The Bad Faith Angel
by Anlynne
Summary: Family and blood comes first. Right?
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

**It Will Be Done**

It was September 26th. On a dark road streetlamps were lit, sending pools of halo-white to the inky blackness. A man in a black robe pulled his hood to further conceal his face. Not that anyone would recognize him, as he would never step onto such a street if he had not been given strict orders.

_Lord Voldemort stood from behind the heavy desk as his snake, Nagini curled over his shoulders. He ran a long finger down between her eyes, but his were set on the man bowed before him. "I trust this meeting will stay within these walls?"_

_ "Yes, my Lord."_

He stopped in front of a two-story house with a neatly mowed lawn. He sneered at the neat roses that lined in front of the porch. In his disgust with his task, he set them on fire as he passed. The fire burned brighter than any of the lamps.

_ "There was a prophecy. I have a job for you."_

_ "It would be an honor to serve you."_

He unlocked the door, and slipped inside. How easy it was to penetrate muggle devices. It was as though they were asking for more powerful people to come in and do what they will. He would enjoy this part of the request the most. It was the next two decades that were going to be the hardest. He thought he would rather die than do such a task, but when it came down to it, it was not true.

_"A mudblood has been born. This baby is destined to be the brightest Witch of her age. This makes her the most dangerous, and I wish for her to be taken care of."_

_ "We will kill her, Lord."_

_ "Don't be quick to presume what I'd like, Malfoy. I do not wish for you to kill her. I want the opposite."_

The house was clean and organized. There were a pile of storybooks on the coffee table, and pictures of the happy family on the mantle of the fireplace. He walked upstairs and checked the nearest room where he found a muggle man and woman in bed, asleep. That was a shame, he preferred his victims to be awake, to see their horror-stricken visages.

_"Kill the parents, and take the mudblood from her home." Lord Voldemort smiled, cruel, twisting, and calculating._

"Avada Kadavra." Green light blinded his vision as he killed the father. "Avada Kadavra." He left the room to search for the baby.

In the next room there were stuffed animals about, more books tidied in a small child's bookcase. In the cob was a pink bundle, a bald baby girl sleeping soundly, unaware that her parents had been killed.

_"Raise her as your daughter. This is the utmost importance. There is no greater task. She must be raised in our midst. She will come in use... Try to pretend she is your seed. If you shall fail..." Lord Voldemort caressed his wand. "I am sure I do not have to inform you of the consequences."_

He was in disgust that he had to raise someone of no magical blood, to pass off a mudblood as his own. It made him feel filthy, but he picked up the girl, and cradled her in his arms.

_He bowed once more. "It will be done, my Lord. I will not fail you."_

His wife didn't want a daughter. Neither did he, but there she was. Within seconds of her short life, she had lost her parents, gained new ones, and the Wizarding world rested on her tiny shoulders. She had no idea what laid in store for her.

_"I do not want our son to be mixed in with that sort!"_

_ "Narcissa..."_

_ "Lucius, this is unacceptable! _

_ "It is the highest priority and honor. We must do this. She is not to know. This girl is a tool. We use her to fulfill the Dark Lord's wishes."_

Lucius Malfoy strolled out of the house, the baby girl in his arms.

_"Lord, may I ask what her name is?"_

_ "Hermione Granger."_

* * *

><p>AN: IMPORTANT! This story has a touchy subject line which I am sure many of you can guess. If it makes you uncomfortable, please do not read. Writing this story does not mean I condone anything here. It is for enjoyment only.

As you may know, this story was almost not posted. For the first time, my story was read by someone else prior to posting. Thanks goes out to The Amyrlin Seat for that, and giving her thumbs up.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**She is but a Mudblood**

For the first four years of her life, Hermione Malfoy lived in the cellar of the Manor, the houselves tending to her, becoming her first friends, her truest family as her parents wanted little to do with her and her brother Draco taunted and pushed her, making her cry. She particularly grew close with Dobby, who she worked with most. She wore the same clothes as him, her hair dirty and tangled around her face, but she suffered less than him and that made her sad.

The years passed that way, serving meals and cleaning under the cloak of darkness until one special day. It was a day that would change the course of her life forever. Draco had a spoiled fit, his temper bursting and causing a valuable vase to shatter. Their father had sent him to his room without dinner.

Hermione had little care for him. He was mean to her, but seeing his tears as he ran upstairs, she felt compassion. She rushed to the kitchen where her friends were preparing dinner, and she sloppily made a peanut butter sandwich and poured a glass of milk.

"Miss Hermione should be careful."

"I will, Dobby," she promised.

Draco though sneered at her when her bare feet touched his plush carpet, bellowing for her to get out, but once he saw the tray he allowed her inside.

"You were not ordered to do this," he told her as if she did not possess the smarts to know that.

"I know," she told him.

There was a dawning in his eyes, and it occurred to him then that she had a mind of her own, and what she did for him she did out of kindness.

Their father had spotted them minutes later, sitting on his bed, sharing the food and he began to yell, horrified at what he witnessed. By her arm he dragged Hermione off the bed and she hit the floor roughly, bruising her knees, but he jerked her to her feet, unconcerned with any possible injuries. He pushed her out, but it was too late for what he tried to stop.

In the night, Draco had tip-toed out of his room. When he felt the coldness of the cellar he went back to his room to get a blanket, and when he arrived he gave it to her, sitting beside her.

"Are you hurt," he asked.

"Yes." She raised up her brown cloth and showed him a darkening bruise on her knee.

"You turned my ears red once. Can't you heal that?"

She shook her head, even more saddened at the memory of her first transgression. She was punished horrible for doing to that Draco, even if she didn't mean to, even if he had pushed her into the mud.

"No..." It was not for lack of trying, but as hard as she tried to concentrate, she was frazzled. How long would the punishment continue? It was apparent that their father wouldn't want to see her face around for a while, not want a reminder of what he brought into the world.

Draco frowned, and touched it. The skin stretched, the redness faded, and the wound disappeared under his fingertips as though it had never been there. Magic.

"Draco! You did it! You did magic!"

He beamed gallantly, looking at his fingertips as if they were made of gold.  
>She returned his smile, but it soon slipped as she saw how the light from the doorway lit his hair like a halo. "Why do I look different from you," she asked, a question she desperately been wanting answers for.<p>

"I don't know..."

"They hate me for it..."

"I don't hate you." He tenderly wiped a tear from her cheek. "Not anymore. I'd be starving right now if you didn't feed me."

Months later, Lord Voldemort had ordered to meet with Hermione in her father's dark study. Hermione stayed as far back as her father and mother would allow, afraid of the pallid man that resembled a snake. She hid slightly behind her father's leg, though she didn't touch him. Her father didn't like to be touched.

"You are Hermione Malfoy," Voldemort addressed her.

She nodded. She wanted to know why she was there, who that man was, and why she was being spoken to. Yet, she knew better than to ask questions. A hope for the Wizarding school she heard about grew inside of her. Maybe it was then that she would be allowed to ask questions, and even answer some herself. She could have more friends...

"Speak, child."

"Yes, sir. I'm Hermione Malfoy."

He frowned. "Dear Lucius, why is the girl wearing a cloth fit for a houself?"

"She works in the kitchens with them, Lord."

"No. That will not do. I ordered you to treat her as you would a daughter, Lucius. Not as a servant. She is of great importance to us."

"But, Lord, she is but a mudblood."

It was a word she didn't recognize, and knowing she would never get an answer, she let it pass.

Lord Voldemort raised his arm, aiming a gnarled wand at her father, and Hermione became horrified. Surely, he wouldn't - he wouldn't curse her father?

"I warned you, Lucius. I have warned you for the last time."

"NO!" Hermione ran forward and placed herself in front of her father. "No, please. Don't. Please."

Lord Voldemort was intrigued, cocking his head to the side at her. He lowered his arm, and smiled, as if some experiment he had been conducting turned out better than planned.

"Please don't hurt him," she cried.

Her father was stunned. He didn't touch her, but froze in silence at the actions of the little girl he treated so terribly.

"Why do you protect this man?"

"He's my father," she answered so softly it was a breath.

"He has been cruel to you, and you are ready to accept his fate?"

She flinched, she didn't want to, she didn't want him to see it, but she couldn't help but ponder what the curse he was going to use on her. Through her cotton-mouth, she spoke, more childlike and innocent than before. "Yes, sir."

He raised his wand at the girl.

Narcissa gasped. It was low and nearly inaudible but she moved forward to pick up her daughter, but Lucius had grabbed Hermione's arms and wrenched her behind his legs. For the first time, despite the dirty cloth she wore and the dirt under her nails, her mother held her close, tears fresh in her eyes, Lucius looking everywhere but at the wand now aiming at him.

"Take your family out of here, Lucius, and be glad. If she did not come to your defense, you would be dead, but heed my orders to treat her as your child. I am unhappy with what I saw."

"Yes, my Lord."

It was that day that things changed. Hermione's mother ordered for a room to be decorated for a princess, and she ordered Dobby to be Hermione's personal assistant. Hermione was most delighted by that. It would save Dobby from being hit so often from her father's snake cane. She could protect him.

Her mother came for her in the cellar and brought her up to the second floor, across from Draco's room. Hermione's eyes hurt, not used to such brightness. There were plenty of windows that stretched across the large space, allowing the sunshine to pour in. There were pink comforters and stuffed animals, and stars that glittered realistically on the ceiling.

"Do you like it, sweetheart?"

"It's pretty," she said, possibly more shocked than her father was earlier that day. "Why am I not in the cellar anymore?"

Her mother knelt to her eye-level. "You saved your father's life, you know that?"

She wondered if Draco had done something to earn his place, but she did not dare ask. Questions, they made her parents angry.

"You did," her father said, walking into the room. For the first time, he looked kindly on her. There was a debt there, a clicking in his head, that he had to do what he must, and that girl proved to be far worthier than many purebloods he had met. How many of them would have stood in front of him, had begged for his life?

Hermione nodded, although she was confused at why the snake-man was threatening him. She didn't know what it was about, but she knew better than to ask. She wouldn't receive any answers from them.

"You do love us, don't you, Hermione," her mother questioned, apparently still stunned by the fact.

She nodded again.

"I promise you that things will better from now on. Do you accept our apologies?"

"Of course, mother."

Her mother gathered her in her arms, and hugged her tight. "My daughter..."


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**September 1st**

The day had finally arrived. It was September 1st, and Hermione would be boarding the train for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizarding for her First Year. She had read everything she could on the wonders of the school. In fact, she had read all of her textbooks months in advance to prepare.

Hermione had been brimming with excitement when Mother and Father had taken her and Draco to gather her school supplies. The moment that her wand chose her was the highlight of the day, a beautiful vine, dragon heartstring, 10 3/4 wand. Unlike Draco, who had fireworks shooting out of his, hers were a wonderful display of colorful streamers.

When she chose her owl, an Elf Owl, a miniscule owl that had nipped her finger affectionately in the store, Draco had mocked her for her choice.

"My Owl will get to Mother and Father ages before yours! Better not send two letters, Herm, or he'll drop out of the sky!" He ran his hand down the back of his proud and dignified Eagle Owl, a much larger owl than hers that it looked almost preposterous.

"I think he's sweet," she told him in her haughty tone, thinking of her owl small but loyal. "Mother," she touched her mother's arm. "I like this one."

She tried to memorize every day about that day as she packed her trunk. Dobby had apparated next to her.

"Does Mistress Hermione want Dobby's help?"

She smiled kindly at the houself. "Thank you, Dobby, but I can do it. You take care of yourself while I'm at school, okay?"

"Dobby will do his best. Dobby will miss Mistress Hermione."

"Will you ever call me Hermione?"

"Dobby has too much respect for Mistress Hermione!" He squeaked.

She kissed the top of his bald head, his bat-like ears twitching. "I will miss you, too."

Hermione lugged her trunk out of her room, and readied to make the dangerous journey downstairs with it. She had pushed it to the edge of the stairs when it flew from under her hands and down the steps. Her father was waiting at the bottom, his eyes tired, his hair silvery white, his wand lazily hanging between her fingers.

"Hermione, how many times must I tell you to have the houself do the menial work? That is what they are for. You act like a common muggle."

She knew better than to argue with her parents on houselves or muggles. She desperately wished to give Dobby his freedom, but her parents could be frightening, and she didn't dare cross them. There were still those memories - fuzzy as they may have been - of living in the cold cellar. Instead of arguing, she descended the stairs and met her father.

"I like doing things myself, father."

"You could be more like Draco."

She rolled her eyes as the fore-mentioned bounded down.

"All set, father," he boasted. "When are we going?"

"After breakfast." He gave Hermione a look of failure before retreating through the doors to the kitchen.

"What did you do," asked her brother.

"I took my trunk down by hand."

He shook his head. "Get off it, Herm."

"They deserve their freedom!"

"They're houselves, they are made to serve us."

"Was I? Drake, I was in their position once, do you remember? I was kept in a cellar, just like them. I wasn't treated like you. I was a slave. Like them."

He set his jaw, his winter eyes flashing dangerously. He didn't like remembering what they had done to her, it haunted him as much as it did her. "We were wrong," he told her forcefully. "I know what you think, Hermione, but it wasn't because of how you look. We have a large family, you probably took after someone else. It happens. Most of the Black family has black hair. Malfoy's have blond. I'm sure we have brunettes in there somewhere."

She looked away, but he took her hand and led her to the kitchen. "I'm hungry," he stated.

They ate their breakfast, and Hermione left a few coins underneath her plate. Just in case Dobby needed something for himself but feared reaching her at Hogwarts. She feared that he would not be taken care of in her absence.

Through the fireplace they entered a pub. Her father tipped the bartender many Galleons for the use of his dingy and stinky place, just so they wouldn't have to pass through so many muggles. Father said he didn't want to dirty is new robe.

Draco slid his hand in hers for comfort. Their mother ushered them out onto the train station, their father close behind them dragging both of their trunks.

The train was bellowing steam, people crowding the dock. It was much more hasty than Hermione had imagined, but she was not surprised. She stayed close with her parents and her brother.

"There's Theo," Draco exclaimed, nodding his head coolly to his best mate.

Their father bent to his knee, stealing his attention away. "Keep your head down, Draco. Don't find yourself in trouble. I don't want a letter from that fool of a Headmaster."

"Yes, father."

Their mother hugged him, kissing both of his cheeks. "Listen to your father, and send us a letter at least once a week."

"Yes, mother."

Hermione was next. Her mother attempted in vain to brush her hair down but settled with kissing her cheeks and embracing her close. "Stay out of trouble, make sure your brother does, too. Take care of yourself. Send us letters every three days."

"I will, mother."

"I love both of you."

Their father took her hand, forcing her away from her children.

Hermione stepped up to the train, stopping to wave once to them. Then, she was on board, leaving a part of her childhood behind.

Draco broke away from her looking for his friend. "I'll find you later," he promised.

Hermione nodded sadly. She felt alone and vulnerable without him. She walked down the train, dodging hands and elbows and their careless owners. She then, bumped literally into a frantic, pink-faced boy. He was tearful, his eyes searching the floor.

"Have you seen a toad," he asked her. "His name is Trevor. I lost him! My grandmother is going to kill me!"

"What's your name?"

"Neville Longbottom."

She smiled. He could possibly be her first friend, as Draco's friends wanted little to do with a sister. "Okay, Neville Longbottom, I'm going to help you find your toad."

And that's how it began. That was how she met Harry Potter and Ron Weasley five compartments down. They didn't like her much, but they would. In time...


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Cellars and Mudbloods**

"It's not right, Herms."

"_You're _not right, Drake." Hermione quickened her steps in order to get away from her irritating, overreacting brother.

Draco kept up with her easily, staying right at her side, shoving anyone who got in his path. "It's Harry Potter! And that stupid Weasel."

"Don't talk about them like that! They're my friends."

Hermione had been sorted into Gryffindor with Harry and Ron. She had sat there in astonishment when the hat had bellowed her House to the rest of the school. She had been certain she was going to be in Slytherin - after all, everyone in her family was in Slytherin, but in her great surprise the hat debated in her ear between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, ultimately deciding the latter.

There was an inner hope that Draco would also be in Gryffindor, but the hat barely touched his head when it announced him into Slytherin. It was less than what he wanted, it was what he knew, but he didn't look happy. He looked sullen, his eyes not leaving hers, in as much disgust as she was in shock.

Hermione had re-written the letter to her parents so many times that Draco ended up telling them for her. Their reactions weren't what they were expecting. They thought they would be angry, but they didn't so much as send a Howler, much less yank her out of Hogwarts. No, it was much worse. She had wondered for weeks whether or not they even received her owl, but they had simply decided not to reply. It weighed on her for months afterward. Why was she so different?

During her first year she had finally befriended the boys on the train by them saving her from a troll. They had been best friends since, and it had angered Draco, but only by begging did he keep it from their parents.

The entire summer he spent with her, practically stitched at her side. They did everything together, and frankly, she was sick of his company. She knew that he believed if she spent enough time with him he would influence her that Harry and Ron were no good. They were though. They were the best friends she never had, and she was not going to allow an old prejudice to get in her way. She loved her family, but she did not share their views on the world.

"You know how father feels about them. If he knew -"

"He's wrong, Draco!"

He roughly pushed her aside, against the stone wall. "Father is never wrong!"

"But he is!"

"Who means more to you, Herms? Your family or your friends?"

"Do I have to choose?"

"One day you will."

She clutched the strap on her bag. "C'mon, Draco. We'll be late for Charms. Maybe I'll learn how to make you smile."

"You already know that, Herms. You don't need magic for it."

She grinned at him, and he smiled back.

Draco paused in the middle of the class, watching Hermione choose her seat between Harry and Ron. He scowled and threw himself between Crabb and Goyle. It was childish of them, but Harry and Ron gave equal loathing looks. She rolled her eyes, and opened her book.

"Are you sure you're related," Ron whispered to her.

"We went over this, Ron. I'm a Malfoy."

Harry shrugged. "It's not like I'm anything like the Dursley's. Dudley's ten of me."

Ron didn't appear appeased, but it wasn't surprising. Everyone in his family looked similar with their flaming red hair and freckles. "Doesn't explain that you're the brightest Witch in our year and he's a git."

"We're not that different." It wasn't true, and Harry and Ron both knew it. Draco and her were as different in personality as they were in looks. He was winter and she was summer, he was cold and she was compassionate. He was a Slytherin and she was a Gryffindor. He was the prized son and she was the disappointing daughter.

At the end of class Draco swiped her supplies into her bag, and slung it over his shoulder as he snatched her hand in attempt to tear her away from her friends.

"Hey, Malfoy!" Harry jumped in front of him.

"Which one of us would you be speaking to, Potter?" It was a reminder to her friend, to his enemy, that they were related, and nothing could break that bind.

"The stupid one," Harry answered.

"Why you -"

"Stop it, Draco. Harry, I'll see you in the common room." She looked pleadingly at him, begging him silently to let her go. She didn't have a choice.

"Yeah, she'll see you in the common room, Scarhead. Now, we'll be off to the library. Don't wait up for her."

Harry and Ron glared as he tugged her out into the corridor.

Draco hadn't been kidding, he did keep her out until dusk. She was rubbing her sore and tired eyes, and she was sick of hearing Crabbe's questions on his homework. Draco had told him multiple times to keep to himself while the smarter of them studied.

"I have to go. I'll see you in the morning, Drake." Every morning, he waited outside the portrait of the Fat Lady to go down to breakfast, despite that they had to go their separate ways. Eventually she was reunited with Harry and Ron, and she found the whole routine to be ineffectual but Draco insisted.

"Herms! Wait" He stopped her in the corridor.

"I'm tired."

"Listen... Before father writes you -"

"Father?"

"I wrote him about your friendship with Potter and Weasley."

"You did what?"

"It had to be done. You could have better friends than that. They get you in trouble. Last year it was a troll, that joke those 7th Years pulled. You could've gotten killed. What's it going to be this year?"

"Nothing!"

"Hermione, he's the Boy Who Won't Die. Weasley's a mudblood lover."

"Draco... Mudblood?"

"That's what they are! They're not like us."

"Neither am I! I was outcasted, too, Draco."

"You're not a mudblood!"

"That's a derogatory term!"

"Their blood is dirty. They have no magic. They're a waste of the air they breathe."

"You're just like father."

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment!" Horrible thoughts of the cold cellar crept up her spine. It chilled her more than the dark hallways of the castle at night. "How could you? I trusted you! You're my brother!"

"You'll thank me one day, you'll see."

"No! You don't know what father will do to me. You may have sentenced me to that cellar again!"

"He won't hurt you. I'll protect you."

"Draco... I can't trust you." She turned and stalked away, tears freshly coursing down her cheeks.

"Herms! Herms! Come back here! Hermione!"

She didn't look back. She broke into a run and ran straight to the comfort of her red and gold common room, where the fire would still be roaring, Harry and Ron playing chess. She would find another place inside of a book, but she knew there was no escaping forever.

Her own brother betrayed her. Hermione's life was never the same after that.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**Returning Home**

Much to Draco's chagrin, their father did not protest to her friendship with Harry or Ron. On the contrary, he encouraged her to be friends with them, and for the next four summers she stayed at the Burrow with Ron's large and cheerful family. Going home wasn't enjoyable, not with Draco's callousness. In fact, if it weren't for their last names, no one would know that they were siblings. They hardly acknowledged each other, and Hermione increasingly became closer with her friends.

Once in those years Draco and Hermione were together. It was in their third year; Draco had aggravated a Hippogriff. She was angry at his arrogance, but nonetheless she spent the night in the Hospital Wing. When she woke she found that his hand was in her hair, as if he had been caressing it, like the way he did when she suffered from nightmares at home. She had extracted it and left quickly before he could wake himself, for that sweet act left her to the inability to hear him lecture her.

While she could forgive him, it was him that couldn't forgive her. He wanted nothing to do with her, and it was worse than that cellar. It was colder, and she felt more unloved than she ever had in her life. It was like a warm blanket being taken on the rawest night of the year.

Their relationship was doomed when they reached their Fifth Year, on the night Sirius died. She had gone with Harry, Ron, Luna, Neville and Ginny to the Ministry. It had fallen apart, and they were attacked by Death Eaters. It was her father who knocked her out, she recognized his wand. It was the last she saw that night, his act to protect his daughter. He was caught and sent to Azkaban, and she had to come to terms with the fact that her father was a Death Eater. He did serve the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord surely was the snake-man who tortured him. It continually tortured her in return, not being able to deny it any longer, and Draco would never relent on making sure that it haunted her for the rest of her life. He would never forgive her for it.

There was the night he cornered her. He yelled about her betrayal to their family, that she was a disgrace, as bad as any mudblood. She cried and cried on the sixth floor, alone in the corridor long after their Head duties. It was Ron who found her, who awkwardly helped her up and led her to their Common Room.

He patted her back. "I hate your brother," he said.

Harry had come over, and took her in his arms, albeit just as awkwardly as Ron. "I'm sorry about your father, Hermione. I... I never told you that."

She didn't think it was of any importance anymore. She was with them, and that was all that mattered. Those two boys were all she had left.

That was why she was stunned when Draco was waiting for her by the Fat Lady, who complained loudly. "This Slytherin will not go away! I will not give you the password," she squealed at him.

"I don't want the password, you lard of -"

"What do you want, Draco," she asked.

"To give you this." He handed her a letter. "Mother is requesting your presence this summer."

She shook her head. "I never come home for the summers, you know that."

"Fine, it's not a request, it's an order."

"I'm not coming home." She moved to the entrance to the common room, but he slid in front of her, blocking her way.

"You will!"

"What's so special about this summer?"

He gave her a meaningful look. "We have a special visitor, and he's anxious to see you."

The snake-man. The very thing that tried to kill her father. She choked, "no. I can't. No."

"You don't have a choice."

Harry and Ron looked to each other, passing silent messages of confusion and curiosity. She would be subject to questioning later, but it would be a waste of time. She could never tell them what they already knew.

"I can't go home."

He saw the fear in her eyes, and by her wrist he dragged her out of ear-shot, shooting hateful glowers at Harry and Ron before turning his attention to her. "I'll be there. I know I haven't been for a long time, but I will now."

She was startled. "Why, Draco?"

He touched his left arm. It would look like a casual touch to anyone else looking on, but she gasped at the meaning.

"No..."

"I have to do this. I have to take his place."

"How could you?"

"I love you, Herms. I'll forgive you, if you come home with me."

She huffed, "that is a cruel offer." She set her jaw. "He tried to kill father..."

"I won't let him hurt you."

"Draco..."

"You're my sister." His hand lowered to hers, squeezing her fingers. "I'll protect you." Kissing her cheek, he added what would make her decision. The factor that wouldn't allow her a choice. "If you do not show, the Dark Lord will surely punish us."

She hated what she had to do. "Okay... I'll come."

He kissed her cheek once more, holding his lips there for a second longer than usual. "And I'll be right at your side. I promise, Herms."

She became warm hearing her nickname. She rarely talked to Draco anymore, and it was a shame, a wasted love that they had for each other. Yet, she still regretted her decision. She would give anything not to go back home.

"It'll be like the old days. We'll rise to power and father will be with us again. We need you."

"I don't want -"

"Don't say it," he interjected. "It's a shame." He walked away before she could say any more.

She returned to Harry and Ron who waited patiently, mostly to hear them, or vainly hoping they could read their lips. "I'm going home," she told them. "Tell your mother I'm sorry."

Ron looked outraged. "What did he say to you?"

"An important friend of my father's is coming."

"You look scared, Hermione," Harry commented.

She pushed them aside, and went up to her dormitory to write a formal apology to Mrs. Weasley, if only to rid the image of the snake-man out of her mind.

_Anything._ She'd give anything not to go home.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**Dumbledore's Funeral**

The world, it fell apart at the end of that year. Hermione had dreaded the thought of going home, to see the man with the flat face, but she outright felt like someone was ripping her apart, forcing her to stand in front of the evil man that was destroying everything. It was the worst year. It was the year, that the world they thought they knew, wasn't what it was at all.

Snape was in league with Voldemort. That was what Harry was sure of, but Hermione knew better. She saw Dumbledore's hand and she greatly suspected that it was all planned. It only made sense, for if Snape wanted Dumbledore dead, he would have done it ages ago. Not then, not in front of Draco and other Death Eaters, not when there was such a low chance of escape, but he did. He did escape, and she knew exactly where he was, but she couldn't say a word, not without endangering her family.

That was what was wonderful about Harry and Ron. Neither of them asked questions about her life with Malfoy. They did, many years ago. They annoyed her with the endless rants about him and what went on within the Manor. Especially Ron. They no longer did, though, knowing that her answers would be short and unfulfilled, and she didn't like to talk about it. She didn't like what her family was. She knew Harry came to the brink of risking her anger to know, but he trusted her to tell him if it was something that could save them all.

No one knew the selfishness in Hermione. The snake-man almost killed her father once. She wouldn't be the reason he did. Yet, she didn't leave on that train. She respected Dumbledore a great deal. Harry and Ron needed her. She would simply go home that night.

People were mourning an hour after Dumbledore's funeral, as they would for a long time to come. Harry broke away from a stoic Ginny, and Hermione and Ron joined him at the edge of the Black Lake.

"You said to us once before, that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we," Hermione asked Harry softly but firmly. The tone of voice that Ron said that was not to be argued with. She was going with them. She had made her decision long ago.

"We're with you whatever happens," said Ron and he was going to say something else, before...

"Hermione!"

Draco strolled to them, and Hermione gaped. She was sure that he would've gone home. She supposed that he had strict orders not to leave without her.

Ron grumbled, but Hermione met her brother halfway, far enough that no one would hear them. The wind blew across the rippling lake, catching in her hair. She tucked it behind her ear, but the frizzy strands continued to cross over her eyes. "What is it, Draco?"

"Are you done, now? Can we go home?"

"I'm not going home, Drake." It was best to get out with it. "I'm going with Harry and Ron."

Draco was furious, his dark gray eyes flashing. "Are you mental?"

"This is what I have to do."

He rushed his words in whisper. "You never felt like a Malfoy, I know, Hermione, but you are. You cannot go with Potter and Weasel to stop who we serve. Yes," he spat to her shocked visage, "I know that's why you're going. Potter the blasted hero and his stupid sidekick. You are not going. I will not allow it."

She shook her head, tears springing in her sore eyes. She had done an awful lot of crying over Dumbledore, the greatest and most brilliant Wizard, and here she was crying over the most foolhardy Wizard. "You can't understand this. I have to end this."

"Make me understand."

"It wasn't you in that cellar -"

"The bloody cellar again? It was a long time ago. So father and mother stuck you in there. You were a snotty kid then and you're a snotty woman now -"

_Slap!_

Just like their Third Year, she rounded her hand flat across his cheek. He stumbled and a bright red print of her splayed fingers and round palm showed vividly.

The tips of his fingers reached up slowly to touch the mark. His eyes found the grass, the lake, and he spotted the white marble casket. He pointed to it. "I will not have that be you. I won't bury my sister. You're betraying everything. Everyone. For what?"

"For the good of everyone. For you. For _me! _I'll meet _him_ for our parents, but Draco, I will leave. I have to._"_

Draco stepped back, waving his hand. "Fine. Go. Go with them. I hope you don't get yourself murdered. They'll get you killed, Herms."

Hermione turned and walked away. One step at a time she made her destiny. Without her brother.

He was right all those years ago, when he said that she had to make a choice. Her family or her friends. She made her choice then, and she chose her friends. Their parents would never forgive her, but it was Draco's spite that weighed on her heart the most. It was her loss, and for all she knew, she had put her whole family in danger... Just so the world could live in peace.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**Meeting the Snake-Man**

"I'm here." Draco squeezed her hand.

Hermione barely spoke on the train leading home, confirming her decision in her head that for then, she had to go home. It was time. When she said her goodbyes she promised Harry and Ron would return to them. Somehow she would find her way to them. Draco would simply have to accept that.

Before she could reach Mrs. Weasley on the platform, her mother rushed in to hug her and kiss her cheek. It was the first time she felt trapped in her mother's arms. She wanted to be with the Weasley's, to not go home to the place that had felt like a prison for so long. Without Draco's warmth to her, it lost all of its appeal that homes supposedly had. She thought that it must have been what Harry felt like going home to the Dursley's.

Then, with everything else in a sickening blur, as though she had Floo'd herself to the very moment she was in, heavy dark wooden doors loomed over her. She shook her head and tried to turn, but Draco's hands firmly grabbed onto her shoulders, keeping her forward. "You can do it."

"I can't... Don't make me."

He looked pained in that moment. He stood straighter, his shoulders back, and she knew he had fallen to his resolve. He grasped her hand, and tugged her in behind him.

The Snake-Man, who had not aged a day since last meeting her, had risen from his chair to greet the girl. "Welcome, young Miss Malfoy." His pet snake, that appeared to be larger than the size of a boa constrictor slid over the desk. Her father's desk. It made her angry, and it disgusted her. He disgusted her. She cringed, beyond her greatest effort not to.

"Does the sight of me disgust you?"

"N-no, sir."

"You are lying, Miss Malfoy."

Draco wriggled his fingers, signaling that she was cutting his circulation off. She loosened, but didn't dare let go.

The Snake-Man's eyes caught this. "Oh, this is an interesting turn of events. Dear Lucius did not inform me of this."

What hadn't her father informed him of? More than she ever had, she was glad that he was in Azkaban. It meant that he was safe from him.

"Draco, leave."

This time, it was Draco who squeezed her hand hard, as if he was determined not to be pried from her side. "Sir -"

"Leave."

Draco looked helplessly down at her. He let go and he walked out, not taking his gaze off of her until the doors slammed closed.

She was alone. With the Snake-Man. She couldn't stop trembling, her hand felt empty, and she wanted her wand. It was right there, in her back pocket, but she would die. There would be no one to stop him. It was her alone in the room. Would he hurt her like he hurt her father?

"Miss Malfoy, you have served me well."

If she had, she hadn't meant to.

"Developing a friendship with Harry Potter and his sidekick was brilliant."

She wanted to correct him. It wasn't a diabolical plot - it wasn't meant to be, but she thought it best if she said nothing. She wanted to know more, what he expected of her, and how she could help her friends. She would not allow him near Harry, she would rather die first.

"I know this was not your intention, but you are serving me. You are meant to serve me, that is why you are here." He fingered his wand, trailing his claw-like nail over it. "I want you to do what you have been doing. What you want to do. I want you to stay with Harry Potter. Stay with him and protect him."

"Sir, I... Don't understand." It wasn't a phrase that Hermione used often and it felt odd on her tongue.

"That is good. You may leave now, my dear one."

Her skin crawled and her stomach turned. It was like drinking Polyjuice Potion all over again.

She exited the room, her head hung low, attempting not to be sick. She didn't rather like the idea of emptying the contents of her stomach into her mother's favorite potted plants.

"Herm?" Draco was waiting at the end of the hall.

She ran to him, and he captured her in his arms. He held her tightly to him, protectively.

"What did he say?"

"That I was doing well..." There was the lie in her voice, but it wasn't a lie. Nevertheless, Draco didn't question her. He led her to his room.

It was the same as when he was little. Draped in black. Heavy black curtains to block out the light of the sun, a cherry wardrobe and matching desk and bed, three times larger than what he needed. All of his childhood things had been packed into the attic.

It looked barer than she remembered but still very Draco. Except, the curtains were open. It showed the grounds where they used to play.

They were sweeter days then. Days that weren't complicated by allegiances, houses, and a coming war. If she could she would return to the day when they played on those grounds when they were ten, even the day he was teaching her to fly, and she had fallen three feet, snapping her ankle. It was a horrible, fierce pain, and their parents anger was worse. Father yelled at Draco for hours, how his irresponsibility could have lead to worse injury, how she was to be protected at all cost because she was a girl. They protected women, and they especially protected family. Hermione didn't understand why that burden fell on her brother. After all, it wasn't his fault, it was an accident. Their mother merely carried her to Dobby, who attended to her fretfully.

_"Young Miss Malfoy shouldn't have been flying so high. Miss Malfoy could have done further damage! Oh, Dobby worries for Miss Malfoy."_

_ "It was an accident."_

_ "Dobby knows this, Miss Malfoy but still Dobby worries!"_

_ She kissed the bald head of the hous-elf._

_ "Miss Malfoy is too kind. Too kind, indeed."_

It wasn't the best day, but it was better than that day, meeting the Snake-Man for the second time. Any day was better than that.

"Stay here, will you?"

"I have a room, Drake. Or did father turn it into another art room for mother?"

"I don't want you out of my sight."

"You're afraid of him, too, aren't you?"

His face turned stony, the way it did when he was trying to be strong. It became a permanent feature since father was put into Azkaban and he felt like he had to become the man of the house. It was unfair. They were too young.

"You're my best friend."

"And _them_?"

"You are my brother. I worry for you. What if -"

"Please, Herm?"

She gave in, like giving into the tide of the ocean, and she lifted herself on the tips of her toes and kissed his cheek. "I don't want to be alone," she confessed.

"You won't be."


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

**She Was Hermione Malfoy**

Draco and Hermione felt safe sleeping in the same bed. Draco took the end nearest to the door, and Hermione faced the window. She curled into a ball, watching the ladybug crawl on the windowsill outside. He wiggled back and forth in indecision before he took flight, instantly concealed in the darkness of the night.

Hermione had been home a week, but the Snake-Man hadn't called her back. Draco was called in front of him every day, but Draco wouldn't speak of the reason. It wasn't for her to know. It was Death Eater business, and she wasn't a Death Eater (thank goodness!).

Another ladybug (or the same one) landed back onto the sill. He crawled up the pane.

She turned her back to it, facing Draco's hunched feature. He never slept like her, instead he slept in a straight line, one leg positioned out from his body, as if ready to kick an unseeable being.

Gently, Hermione touched his shoulder. "Drake?" Her whisper was softer. It was needed, the dark required it.

He slouched to his side, taking her hand and keeping it in his. "Herm?"

"I want to go to the Burrow." She said it so softly, he couldn't have possibly have heard her. She was afraid that somehow, the Snake-Man would.

"What?"

"I want to go to the Burrow."

"Out of the question."

"I'm not doing anything here that is of use. I don't see why not."

"It's not up to me, Herm."

"I should speak to mother?"

"Don't be thick. You'll have to speak to the Dark Lord."

She flinched. She would rather do anything but that, except stay in that mansion with him. "I'm afraid."

"I'll take you to him in the morning. You can ask him then. Only, promise me something, Herm..."

"Yes?"

"Do not argue with him. Whatever the Dark Lord's decision is, accept it."

She had his left hand, paler in the little light they were in. It was the Dark Mark that appeared more visible, menacing than any other time. The skull with the snake slithering through the open mouth. She was hesitant to touch it, as if it would cause her pain.

He grabbed her left hand, hovering inches over it before placing her palm flat against the disgusting tattoo.

"Did it hurt," she found herself asking.

"Yes. It singes every time he calls."

Tears sprung in her eyes to think her brother had to endure it. Hermione had to remind herself that he asked for it. It was all he ever wanted, to be like their father. That thought didn't help any.

"Why did you do it, Drake?"

"To take care of you and mother."

"I thought you hated me."

He pushed her wild mane away from her face, his hand stilling on her cheek. It remained there, as if feeling the blushes heat. "You're my sister. I can't ever hate you."

She curled against him, in her brother's protective hold. Her favorite place in the world. "I want to go home," she said in his chest.

He knew she meant Hogwarts, and in rebellion, he didn't respond. Infinitesimally, he held her tighter to him, as if making her stay with him, in the cold mansion, with the Snake-Man nearby.

Although with her brother and safe, Hermione did not sleep well that night. Her thoughts laid within Hogwarts walls, her friends, and the hope that in the morning she would lose herself in her homework.

_"Mother, may I have this book?" She held out the small book for her mother to read, her eyes scanning the golden etched title. She crinkled and upturned her nose, a common appearance of disdain._

_ "That is a disgusting book of muggle fairy tales."_

_ "But, mother -"_

_ Her mother grabbed her hand roughly, snatching the book out of her feeble hold. "Hermione, how many times do we have to go over this? Dirty blood. They are dirty."_

_ Hermione welled up, tears splashing her robe, and her mother dragged her out. She thought her arm would fall off._

_ That night, Draco had crept into her room after curfew, the familiar book under his arm._

_ "How did you get that book, Drake?"_

_ She knew he had stolen it, but at his downcast eyes, she couldn't find the heart to scold him. Not when he climbed onto the bed and laid beside her, propping the book on his stomach. "Cin..." He scrunched his eyes to read the first chapter, unable to pronounce the name it presented. "Cin... Cinde.. Cindy?"_

_ Gently, Hermione took it from him, lying it between them. "How about we start with Beauty and the Beast?"_

_ He nodded, dejected._

"Wake, Herms. Breakfast."

Hermione woke to the older face of Draco. She nodded, feeling his hand caressing her arm. He imaginatively drew a line between two freckles. She watched with interest as he connected another freckle. A silent game of connect-the-dots he played on his own.

"Please, stay," he asked quietly. He remembered the night's conversation and his promise to take her to the Snake-Man.

When she didn't answer, he withdrew his touch and rolled off the bed. He seized his robe from the post he hooked it on, throwing it over his head. "Why do you have to do this, Hermione? Isn't your family important?" He left, as if it wasn't a question at all.

She felt rage, a volcano over an ocean of sadness. Her family meant everything to her. It wasn't a question. Not to her.

She only questioned who she was. She was Hermione Malfoy, elite Pureblood.

She was Hermione Malfoy, best friend of Harry Potter.

She was Hermione Malfoy, she did what was right.

Hermione rose and covered herself with her own robe. She sat at her desk and wrote her friends. Whether Draco liked it or not, she was going to go with them.

It was when Ophelia flew out the open window that Draco returned to the room.

"You're going to leave, aren't you?"

She didn't answer nor did she turn to look at him. Then, there was his hand clasping her shoulder, a squeeze for her to feel through the thick fabric.

"Come on, then. I'll take you to the Dark Lord."

She rose, and like a wing over a baby bird, he led her to the Snake-Man's door.

He was dressed in his usual black robe, but this one had dark stains at its hem. She deeply hoped that it wasn't blood. Suddenly, she wished she was staying. If she was staying she would be near Draco and not in the same room as the horrible creature before her.

Draco was positioned by the door, his graze averted from her and the wizard. She wanted him closer, but she didn't dare voice it or go to him. She knew better.

The Snake-Man observed her. "You are wishing to rejoin your friends. Is that right, young Miss Malfoy?"

"Yes, sir." She tried to keep her voice calm and even, but she was sure that he could hear her heart thumping madly.

He observed her for another full minute. "I will approve of this." He held up a hand, stopping Draco from moving to collect her and leave. "I have a condition. I will allow you to leave the Manor if you promise that you will stay close to Mr. Potter."

Her breath lodged itself in her throat. It sounded like an easy promise to make, but she was cleverer than that. If the Snake-Man wanted it then there was a reason, and that reason couldn't be good.

Was there any way that staying close to Harry would put him in danger? She couldn't see how, unless she had been unknowingly placed under a spell. That was possible, and if she knew it to be true, then she could never leave. She would never put Harry in that sort of danger.

On the other hand, the Snake-Man would have ordered her to leave, but maybe he needed her to agree... There was no way of knowing. She would have to go. Somehow, she got the feeling the only reason she was alive, was because the Snake-Man needed her.

"Miss Malfoy, I don't have time for you to question my gracious offer."

"I'm - I'm sorry. Thank you." She flinched.

"What is your answer?"

"Yes, sir. I would like to go."

The Snake-Man smiled and her stomach dropped painfully. She hoped she just hadn't made the biggest mistake of her life, but perhaps she could find a way to foil the Snake-Man's plans before they unfolded. She wouldn't know until she left.

"Mr. Malfoy, you may escort your sister out."

Draco wasted no time in doing so.

* * *

><p>AN: All of you are lovely, and I hope that you are enjoying your holidays.

Happy Yule, merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, happy Solstice, happy Kwanzaa, happy holidays!


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

**Such A Gryffindor Trait**

The first thing Hermione did after returning from Snake-Man's study was write Harry and Ron. Once that was done, she began her homework. She had finished her History of Magic (more than the asked two rolls, she wrote four and a half) when Dobby, next to her chair, popped in.

"Dobby welcomes Miss Malfoy home." He bowed his nose to the floor, but Hermione hugged the house-elf to her.

"How have you been, Dobby?"

"Dobby has been well, Miss Malfoy."

"Dobby," she chastised gently.

"Dobby means Hermione. Dobby is sorry."

"Don't be."

"Dobby has been asked by Mistress Malfoy to give Hermione a message. Hermione is to go downstairs."

She creased her brows, worried that Draco once again told their mother something he shouldn't have; in this case that she was leaving for the Burrow. "Is this good news?"

"Dobby does not know, ma'am."

"Dobby..."

"Dobby means Hermione. Really, Dobby does," he squeaked.

She kissed the bald head of the elf and thanked him. He disapparated as she trotted out of her room and down the stairs. It occurred to her then that she should have asked where her mother was waiting, but that thought vanished when she saw there in the lounge her father.

Hermione slowed on the bottom step, her hand hovering over the railing, taking in his gaunt face, his sunken eyes, his skin not pallid but a sickly color. Yet, his eyes brightened considerably when they came upon her.

She let out a cry and ran to him. "Father!"

Although Hermione was sixteen (almost a grown woman) and her father was thin and frail looking he didn't hesitate when he picked her up and twirled her around as he used to do when she was a little girl. She cried into his robe.

"You're home. How are you home?"

Her father beamed. "There was a break in the defenses of Azkaban."

Hermione felt the air abandon her lungs. All of the Death Eaters Aurors had put in the wizard prison were free. They were surely roaming about causing havoc, murdering muggles and muggle-lovers. She thought of the Weasley's - of her friends at Hogwarts. Of the Order of the Phoenix. What were they going to do about it? She had to talk to Harry and Ron. She would have to borrow Draco's owl. If he'd allow her, and that was doubtful.

"Hermione, what is wrong?"

"Everyone is out?"

"Yes."

She couldn't tell her father how frightening that was for her. It shouldn't have been frightening for her, it should have been a relief, but she wasn't the daughter that her parents wished she was. She was a muggle-lover. She was one of those that her father's friends would kill. That her brother would one day murder.

"Aren't you happy your father is home, Hermione?" Her mother pressed.

"Yes, yes, of course I am." She was thrilled, but she didn't like the price that it came in. She didn't want to think that she would have traded her father's freedom for peace, but she would have. Her father wasn't innocent; he was there at the Ministry and he fought against them.

He bent at the waist and kissed her forehead tenderly. "Hermione, I never apologized for what I did at the Ministry. It was me who knocked you down. I had to do it. I can not bear if any harm comes to you – you are my only daughter." There was a great guilt in his eyes as he said it.

"I'm sorry, father."

"Why were you there? I told you, you could be friends with Potter and Weasley as long as you remained safe. You put yourself in great danger that night. What if I hadn't gotten to you first?"

"I had to help."

"Such a Gryffindor trait." He did not say it in a contemptuous tone, but in one that was simply a fact, a concept about Hermione that couldn't be denied.

"Father!"

Draco came running in, his broomstick clattering to the floor. He hugged their father, clapping each other's backs happily.

Their mother beamed, literally, tears glittering on her cheeks, flickering like the candlelight on the mantle of the fireplace. "This calls for a celebratory ball."

"Narcissa," he said fondly and lovingly, "I don't think this is the time for a ball."

"Nonsense. You are home." She kissed him, as if that was the need for celebration alone, and for once, Hermione had to agree.

Draco looked at his sister and smiled.

"This calls for new robes, the both of you. Call for your house-elves and prepare."

Draco and Hermione quickly went upstairs, for their parents began kissing again.

Hermione giggled joyfully, and even Draco had a lightness in his step. This was, of course, not because of the ball.

Their family was together. If there was anything that was important to the Malfoy's, it was family. The one thing she was certain was a trait from them.

Only... It was for a short time. Little did Hermione's parents knew, she would be leaving. She didn't know how she was going to tell them now, now that they were reunited.

_Hermione completed her First Year. She received the best marks and was already studying for her Second. Not only her Second, she must think about her future in Hogwarts, and she picked out other books as well._

_ Draco was having a bad day. Father was angry with his reckless flying and being moody as he was mother paid him all the attention in the world. This suited Hermione when she was in the library. It gave her plenty of browsing time, but they went home far too soon for her liking. Draco had apparently an appetite for a Hippogriff and it was nearing dinner time._

_ She finished a book on Second Year spells when she trotted downstairs for warm milk. Commonly, books lulled her to sleep, but there was something about Draco's whining that kept her up at all times of the night. The cracking apparation the house-elves used to coax him down were distracting._

_ When Hermione was full and sleepy she entered the lounge to see father knelt in front of the fireplace. At first she thought he was speaking to someone through Floo and she had the intention of creeping up the stairs quietly, but there were a pile of books beside him - her books, and there were curling and blackening pages in the mouth of the licking flames. The red and orange flames._

_ She lunged forward, her hands on top of her fathers hold on her remaining books. "Father, what are you doing?"_

_ "These are muggle books, Hermione." He gently pushed her back on her bum, and chucked another into the fire._

_ "But father!"_

_ "I will not have this disgusting material in my house," he said, waving a worn book in front of her face. She knew the sight, scent, and feel of that book by heart. It was the one Draco stole for her. Daringly, she made a grab for it, but her father, astounded at her incorrigible behavior pushed her back again. "Go to bed," he growled._

_ There was a ripping in her chest when he threw in the book, the flames taking her beloved stories away in smoke._

_ She was foolish to leave them lying about her bedroom. Her father's personal house-elf was sent to clean every nook and cranny in the Manor and he had found the books. Of course he had been ordered to report such indiscretions._

_ "Father..."_

_ "I will not tell you a second time. Bed, Hermione. Now."_

_ She ran up the stairs, her surroundings in a blur of tears. She did not run to her room, however. She took a shortcut down the darkest hall in the Manor, finding her way by feeling the side, stubbing her toe multiple times on the potted plants she identified in her books to find they were poisonous. She fell against Draco's door, and knocked once, softly, praying no one heard._

_ Sleepy-eyed in bottoms and hair like Harry's, Draco opened the door. "Herms?"_

_ "Father. Burnt. My. Books." Each word was emphasized with a hiccup._

_ He embraced her, waiting out her hiccups. When she calmed he led her to the bed, lying her down. He lied behind her, clasping their hands._

_ "They're only books."_

_ "That's a terrible thing to say, Drake."_

_ "I have five bags of candy in that loose board in my wardrobe. You can hide your ruddy muggle books in there."_

_ She squeezed his hand. "Thank you. You are the best brother a sister could have."_

_ She could feel his smile. "I reckon I tortured you plenty when we were younger. I have to make up for it."_

_ "You have," she mumbled, drifting off to sleep._

_ When she woke the next morning, she was in her own bed._


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

**Hotter than Hell**

Hermione had many childhood memories of grand balls. Every few months the ball room would be overly decorated in colors that even Hermione couldn't name. Dark golds not yet bronze, and dark whites yet not gray or silver. There would be waiters dressed almost as nice as the guests serving small unappetizing finger-foods.

Hermione grew a disgust for the affairs. The adults were snobby and she had to remain silent, keeping opinions to herself, because she was a child and should know no better.

And there she was again, standing in front of her mirror in a black dress, a cloak clasped by a silver coiled snake. It was a gift from her father. While he allowed the dress, he refused to let it be too "muggle." She could hardly argue, considering the way her father was. They were Malfoys and they had a reputation that needed to be upheld, and it mattered not how much Hermione loathed the reputation.

Draco poked his head in. "Ready, Herms?"

She turned and his jaw dropped giving the impression of a statue with his pointed features and slicked back hair.

"Wow," he breathed.

"You've seen me like this loads of times," she reminded him.

He wrapped a tendril of her smooth curls around his pale finger, admiring the effects of the potion she brewed. He admired her painted lips and lids in a way that caused her to blush. "Yes, but it's been years."

She ran her hands over the creases of his dress robe. "You look handsome."

He held out a hand. "One dance?"

"Here?" Her makeup supplies littered her desk where her books would normally be, her books piled where her chair would be, and her chair near the mirror on the wall where she applied said makeup. It was messy for her taste.

"Better than with the boring adults. They could put Professor Binns to sleep."

She giggled in agreement and let him pull her to him. He held her hand up to their shoulders, his other on her lower back where the dress was cut. She held his shoulder and they stepped to the left, Draco leading.

They waltzed in the privacy of her bedroom, the moon and stars spying from the window. He twirled her and she laughed remembering all the times they were made to practice by their mother.

He twirled her again, and she felt beautiful for the first time.

He kept her to him, just like in practice, except this time came with ease, not being watched or ridiculed. Just the two of them dancing however they liked. She snaked her arms over his shoulders, his around her waist, flushed against her.

Hermione's mind screamed that it was wrong. It was her brother. But... It didn't _feel_ that way. There was a part of her, that she had trouble denying then, in that moment in Draco's arms, that wanted only to be closer to him. She wanted to _feel_ him.

In a haze she saw Draco's face edging nearer to hers. She couldn't recall why she had to stop it, so she let his lips touch hers. She let herself push against him. She let him prod her mouth open with his tongue. She let herself taste him. Hot desire, Fire whiskey and bright nights.

Her mind exploded.

Draco.

Smirks.

White blond hair.

Mess.

In.

Mornings.

Touches.

Dances.

Lost.

Found.

Wounds on knee.

Healed.

Draco.

Home.

Drake.

Draco.

Brother.

Hermione wrenched herself back, falling onto her bed. She was gasping, heaving for breath.

Draco misread and hovered over her, his knee by her hip, his hand caressing under her dress over her thigh. He kissed her neck, groaning passionately.

She didn't want to stop him, but her brain was screaming at her. _He's your brother! Your brother!_ Every move he made was amplified, his burning graze at the seam of her knickers hotter than hell.

"Drake, no!"

He jerked back, startled.

"Drake, you're my brother."

The recognition shined in his eyes. "Oh... Herms..."

She hid her face into the nearest pillow, tugging her dress down to her knee. It was not out of humiliation, but of shame. _He's your brother._

"I'm so sorry, Hermione."

Shortly there came a silence that only came when someone left the room. It was dead and lonely.

_Your brother!_

Hermione reapplied her smudged make-up and went downstairs, avidly avoiding any thoughts of what had taken place in her bedroom. She entered the ball room with the sweet air and grace her mother raised her with.

Wizards and witches commented on how she had grown, how lovely she looked. Not one commented on her brown hair, her brown eyes, or anything else that set her so far off from the Malfoy's trademark genes. It was not surprising when she knew that the last man who questioned it went mysteriously missing. The last person who was seen with him was her father.

"Excuse me," her mother told a stout man she was speaking to, and pulled Hermione to a dark and empty corner, her claw-like nails piercing the flesh of her arm.

Hermione rubbed her minor wounds. "Yes, mother?"

"Why are you wearing that Merlin-awful thing, Hermione?"

"Father said I could. It's a dress, mother."

On cue, her father came, looking important, pompous and menacing in a robe similar to her cloak and carrying his walking stick, the head of a snake the hint that it held his wand. His eyes appraised them kindly. He didn't look at anyone the way he looked at his family.

"Is something wrong, Narcissa?"

"Lucius, _look_ at what she's wearing."

"Father," Hermione said in reminder.

"I know," he told his wife disdainfully. "Hermione is nearly of age. I believe the cloak does aid. No one appears to have noticed. Go easy on our daughter."

"Our daughter is dressing like a mudblood," she hissed.

That did it. That epithet. "Dirty blood? Is that all that matters? Blood?"

"I don't understand where you picked up sympathy for those lower than you. What did I do wrong?"

She felt a tightness in her chest. "Please, mother. They are not lower beings. I've been taken Muggle Studies and -"

"You've what?" She looked horrified, as if her worst nightmare had come true. "Hermione, we strictly told you that you were not to take that class. How could you disobey us?"

"Because you're wrong!"

Lucius snapped. "You may not speak to your mother that way, Hermione!"

"Do you think less of me, too, father?

When he didn't answer, looking at her as if all hope had been lost, she stalked to the other side of the room, her heart wrenching when her mother let out a teary gasp. Hermione's surroundings were doused in tears, and she was glad to have had used waterproof make-up the second time. She wiped her tears across her heated cheeks as she felt a touch on her arm.

"Drake."

"Why can't you make them happy?"

"I'm -" she gulped "a freak."

He took her to another secluded corner, away from prying eyes. "You are not a freak. You are a Malfoy. You are as far from a freak as there is."

She went to wipe more tears from her chin, but he caught her hands, kissing her knuckles. Her heart sped up painfully.

"Look at me, Drake, and tell me I'm not different."

"'To be nobody but yourself in a world doing its best to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle any human can ever fight and never stop fighting.'" He quoted E.E Cummings so quietly he was only breathing the words of the muggle writer. Draco's secret favorite.

She sniffed and embraced him, shoving recent memories of his kiss in the back of her mind. It was difficult for she wanted so desperately to kiss him there. She wanted to feel his hands on her, and it was the worst disgust and worst pleasure she would ever feel together.

Slowly, they began to dance, close and silently to the violin strings hauntingly playing from the walls.

"Do you see it, Lucius?"

Lucius saw it. His son dancing too comfortably with his daughter. Limbs entangled, hips swaying, lips to a forehead. It was a revolting sight to witness.

Hermione was a tool of the Dark Lord, and he reminded himself of that every day since she saved his life. It was times like he was having then that reminded him that she was not an ordinary mudblood. That realization may certainly cause the death of him, but gratitude grew to love. He loved his daughter.

Now, it appeared that his son did too. He loved his sister, but not as a brother would or should.

Lucius didn't know if he was more disgusted or sad. Draco obviously didn't know the truth, blissfully unaware that his father killed the girl's biological parents. Blissfully unaware that Hermione wasn't his sister at all. Yet, it did not stop him from laying his hands on her, and Lucius had never been more furious with his precious son.

However, Lucius knew the truth, and he was sad for Draco. He was sad for them all.

"We should stop this," his wife said peering around for stunned eyes.

"No. Let them dance." He looked down at her, conveying how little time they had left.

Yes, Lucius was sad for there was no chance their little Hermione would live. In the end, Lucius and Narcissa would lose a daughter. In the end, Draco would lose his sister.

* * *

><p>AN: I apologize for how long it took to post this chapter. My reasons are simple: Sickness and computer malfunctions.

Here's hoping I can post the next one sooner!

Love you all.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

**A Malfoy Through and Through**

In their blackest of robes Draco waited with Hermione outside of an abandoned toy store in Knockturn Alley. Whoever had the idea of putting a toy store in such a place had to have been liable for insanity.

Knockturn Alley was the opposite of Diagon Alley. It was dark, hidden from the sun with its cramped streets, the shadows of shop windows displaying shrunken heads and chopped hands. The people that loomed there were either hiding their face or talking to themselves. Hermione absolutely detested it, but it was the only meeting place Draco would agree upon. That was because there were more Death Eaters there to take his side if something happened - not that it would. Nothing would go wrong, she knew, and she took a strange sort of pleasure that Draco was not comfortable either. He would never trust other Death Eaters. He was one; he knew there was nothing trust-worthy in them.

She didn't like the idea of Bill Weasley coming there, but it was a better idea than Mr. Weasley or Ron as Harry and Ron insisted. She couldn't bear to think of anything happening to any of them, but Bill was an adept fighter, he was tougher.

"I could have met him myself in Diagon Alley," she whispered to Draco. It wasn't the first time that day that it came out of her mouth.

"Not alone." It wasn't the first time had had said that to her either.

"I'm not in danger there. It's better there than here, sulking around like a criminal."

At that statement he moved his body over hers, his lips to her temple. "Like a Death Eater?"

"Drake... I..." She wanted him to move, memories of her bedroom flooding back, but she wanted him closer to her. It was always that way, the desire to close the distance between them.

Draco accepted that as defeat. "If I had my way, you wouldn't go."

"You're used to that, aren't you," she asked heatedly. "Mum and dad always letting you get your way. It's about time -"

"Shut up, Herms." He drew her hood further down her forehead, hiding her from view. The Malfoys were notorious, and they were not to be approached that day. They had to hide. "You are my sister. What do you expect?"

"I'll be safe."

He touched her hip, inhaled her cinnamon and parchment scent. "I love you."

She wondered in which way he meant it. "I love you too." She wondered in which way she meant it.

His lips brushed her cheek. "Don't leave."

"They need me."

"I need you as much as they do."

She didn't want to think that was true. If it made her decision all that much harder. Only... She had to leave. It was the only way to protect her family, even from themselves. She could only hope that it wouldn't leave her as an orphan, without her brother, without any family what-so-ever.

It was a chance she had to take. The sanctity of their world depended on Harry. He was her best friend; she had to help him.

She had said goodbye to her parents that morning. Her father lost his tough exterior, his gaunt features worsen with fear as he hugged her goodbye. On her back she could feel his hands shake. It instilled fear in her too.

Her mother cried those rare tears. She tried to smooth Hermione's hair as she had done so many times before. She kissed her and held her.

It wasn't enough. She wanted more time with them, a few more minutes - a few more years. She wanted to step back in time and be that little girl again, to play with her brother in the expansive garden, to watch her mother contemplate which frock to wear that day, to see her father peering over papers in his study as she passed by, to watch her parents dance sweetly at Christmastime in front of the lit tree.

She didn't know if she could bear to say goodbye to Draco, but then in the space between his shoulder and ear Hermione saw a bulky man in an emerald cloak. There was a strand of red hair over his scarred face, and her heart leapt. Without thinking, she sidestepped her brother to approach the Weasley.

"Bill," she called in undertone to him, not wanting to attract unwanted attention. Weasley's were not welcome in Knockturn Alley anymore than they were welcome in Death Eater meetings. They were muggle lovers, they betrayed their Pure lineage.

He glanced at Draco. "What is the first thing you said to me?"

He worried Draco would deliver someone else? If it could happen to Moody, it could happen to anyone. "That slice is for Charlie."

He grinned. "And I said you reminded me of mom. That pie was good." He hugged her. "It's nice to see you again, Hermione."

Roughly and quickly he nodded to Draco. "I'll take it from here." He hooked his arm with Hermione's.

"Not so fast." Draco stood straighter, making it apparent that he was in charge. "I want your word that she'll be safe."

"Drake -"

Bill excused. "No, it's alright. He is your brother. By some happenstance." He muttered the last part, but Draco clearly heard it and glared. "I promise, all of us will watch after Hermione. She will not be harmed while she is in our care." He worded it carefully, knowing full well that while Hermione was with Harry, there was no guaranteeing her safety.

Draco wasn't assuaged in the least, but he gave a curt nod and started to walk the way he and Hermione had come.

Hermione freed herself from Bill (although he tried to keep a firm grip on her) and ran after him. She threw herself at his waist, bunching the back of his cloak in her hands. She took in his scent, the feel of him, memorizing it for all the days she would be without it.

Suddenly, all the years they spent apart were cruel. The anger was wasted. All the memories they could have been making slipped down the neck of a hourglass. Their time was up.

"I do love you," she wept. He had to know. It did not matter what choice she made, he had to know that she loved him and always would. It was the most important thing in the world right then, that he had no doubts of her feelings.

He held her head against his chest, as if attempting to press her into his heart. "Promise you'll come back.."

"Promise you won't get killed."

Neither could promise the other. Their situation was more real than it ever had been. He saw the hourglass too.

He buried his face in her wild hair. "Don't forget who you are."

She smiled past her tears and looked up at him. "A Malfoy through and through."

One last look, and she left, his hurt visage stamped in her memory forever, more vivid than any of her knowledge of her spell work.

Hermione didn't know if she'd ever see her family again.


	12. Chapter 11

_**Chapter Eleven**_

**Logical Wishes**

"Harry!" Hermione lunged at her best friend and in turn squeezing her other best friend, Ron.

She had just arrived at the Burrow, at the crooked and quaint house that she thought of as a home. It was hard not to when she spent nearly every summer and vacation there.

"Merlin, Hermione," Ron choked. "Help! Geoff me! Help!"

Mrs. Weasley hurried in. "Hermione!"  
>She hugged her next as Ron recovered behind her. "She's bonkers. Are there marks?"<p>

"We're so glad you're here, Ronald said you may not come. We're happy you're here. Welcome home."

She warmed at the wonderful sentiment, although she gave Ron a quizzical side-glance. He thought she would choose her family... "I've missed all of you," she said. "Where's Ginny?"

"At Fred and George's shop. She'll be home for dinner."

Hermione faced Harry and Ron. "Did you two do your homework?"

Ron gaped. "Really, Hermione? We're on _vacation_!"

"That does not mean you should neglect your studies. Oh, honestly, Ronald, how do you expect -"

Harry laughed. "It's good to have you back."

Posters of flying women passing a quaffle littered the walls of Ginny's room, shadowy movements in the greater darkness. Hermione watched them, curled on the camp bed Mrs. Weasley set up for her, snuggling under a patchwork blanket. Ginny slept soundly from the other side of the room, having laughed herself to sleep telling her all the jokes in her twin brother's shop.

Hermione, on the other hand, was missing her parents and brother. Yet, she couldn't regret coming to the Burrow, it was like another home. It was home. And her boys needed her more than ever.

She fingered the fringe on her borrowed blanket. Her other boy needed her too. She remembered what he said, that he needed her as much as Harry and Ron, but Draco was alone. A Death Eater in the middle of a war, and she abandoned him.

There should have never been a choice between duty to the world and herself; duty to her family and bloodline. Between her best friends and her brother. Between the Burrow and the Manor.

_"The Weasley's!" Father huffed in his study one morning after her return from her First Year at Hogwarts._

_ "The Dark Lord is okay with her befriending Potter and the mudblood-lover?"_

_ Silence, but Hermione didn't peek in, lest she wanted to be caught snooping. Her father was a harsh punisher. She could hardly believe she was eavesdropping on him! She had spent an awful lot of time with Harry and Ron, and they were rubbing off on her._

_ That last thought made her smile._

_ "Lucius, you _did_ tell him?"_

_ "Don't fret, my dear. The Dark Lord was pleased."_

_ "He wanted this to happen?"_

_ "We are not to question the Dark Lord's motives."_

_ "I... I worry for our daughter. She's only a little girl. I -"_

_ "Sh."_

_ They listened and Hermione stopped breathing. Her father opened the door with a furious glare. She looked down at her shiny black shoes, ashamed._

_ "If you have the uncontrollable urge to spy like a mudblood, you will be treated like one."_

_ Hermione began to cry, fearful that she would be sent to the cellars with the house-elves._

_ At the sight of her tears, her deeply kind-hearted father bent and hugged her. "Shhh, my silly daughter. I was not going to beat you, only send you to your room. You foolish girl."_

Her mother had worried from the on that they damaged Hermione. Hermione knew that, because that was not the last time she had accidentally overheard them talking, although they took more care not to be caught again.

Hermione wrapped the fringe around her finger, and peered out the window to the starry sky. It was too similar to the last night she spent in Draco's arms. It was as though every star decided to be her personal reminder, to cause her to almost feel the warmth of him around her.

She had never wished on stars. It was not very logical, although, she supposed if she had grown up muggle, she would have. There wouldn't be her mother preparing her and her brother for Hogwarts by teaching them beginners Astronomy.

This time, it seemed okay to wish on them, while she was in her dire need of a miracle. By all logic, what would it hurt?

"I wish, I wish, I wish upon all stars, please keep my family safe from harm." She whispered it to the heavens, hoping someone would hear her plea.

She hoped that Draco would wish, too, as he had when he was a child. Perhaps, in all logical sense, their wish would double.

She could hear him, in her head, a ghost of what should have been a memory say, "_that's a Hermione wish_."

_Hermione_ was his word to use for common sense when they were little. She would smile and roll her eyes every time.

She closed her eyes to the stars, and wished and wished until sleep took her in its graceful arms.

_ "Where are we at, Harry? We are out past curfew, if Mrs. Norris or Filch caught us -"_

_ "Keep it down. I want you to see something."_

_ Hermione followed Harry to an empty classroom. Alone in it was a beautiful ornate mirror. Curved along its top was writing that Hermione couldn't read. It was not runes, and so she thought. Then she saw it. It was English, but the words were written backwards._

_ Mirror of Desire... What could that mean?_

_ "How did you find this?"_

_ Harry looked away, and she knew it was something that she would reprimand him for. She stepped closer, but Harry pointed to a spot right in front of it. "Stand here," he said._

_ She did, and peered into the mirror. She gasped and stepped out of mirror's way._

_ "What did you see?"_

_ She pressed her hand on her heart. It was racing. "That wasn't me."_

_ "Who was it?"_

_ She shook her head, breathed evenly, and returned to her spot. She stared again. The girl in the mirror made all of the same movements she did, but it couldn't have been Hermione. This girl had blond hair and silver eyes, an ethereal paleness to her. It was then that she realized, that the girl was her. It was Hermione, only, it was Hermione with Malfoy genes._

_ "Oh." She ran her fingers through her hair, watching her mirrored Malfoy self do the same. She was pretty. She was very pretty._

_ "What is it?"_

_ "I look like my brother." She looked like a proper Malfoy. She would be able to attend her mother's balls and fit in. No one would question whether she belonged there, even silently as she knew they must. Tears sprung in her eyes, stinging her into submission._

_ "Harry," she asked, only slightly choked, "what do you see in the mirror?"_

_ "My family."_

_ She nodded as she had suspected as much. She turned from her reflection and smiled. "I'm glad you got to see them. I wish I could see them, too."_

_ Hermione listened carefully for any sounds that could be their doom, but she heard none. All the same, it was late. "We should go."_

_ "Suppose so."_

_ He pulled the invisibility cloak over them._

_ "Harry?"_

_ "Yeah," he asked in her ear._

_ "Thank you."_


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

**Eavesdropping**

The walls were dark, a gray and black floral paper. The floors were dark, a deep burgundy. The hallway was dark. The whole damn Manor was dark. A brooding and never ending silence of depression.

Draco wouldn't have been surprised to find a Death Eater looming ahead of him, urging him forward until he lost his soul.

The first summer without Hermione was lonesome, but he soon grew accustomed to it. It was almost like being an only child, but one that suffered the loss of a sibling. The hole inside of him that could never be filled, that never disappeared. Hermione would go on and on about how time heals all wounds, but he thought whoever said that was a head case. He thought that of his sister more times than he could count.

Draco crossed her room, last touched by her, a salute to the lost daughter. Many times he found himself standing in the doorway, unable to walk in. Normally, he wouldn't have a problem doing so. While he would be at it, he would probably go through her things like the intruding brother he was, but he couldn't bring himself to do that either. She may have been dead the moment she walked away.

He stood in the doorway then. Her room was the lightest of all the rooms in the Manor. The windows open, the sunshine pouring through, but it was desolate without her there. A haunted room with the memories it kept. Books laid stacked on her desk of her last studies, one even laid on her bed, bookmarked many times with ribbons for quick return. Books of runes and languages; of history and culture.

A tie of crimson and gold was wrapped over the bedpost. It was an idea she got from him, as he did the same with his Slytherin tie. It was a piece of Hogwarts near them.

He walked in, and ran his fingers over the silky fabric. He then untied it and slung it around his neck. He looked into the mirror. It was a funny sight, Draco Malfoy wearing a Gryffindor tie. It didn't suit him at all. In fact, he loathed it and wrapped it over the bedpost again, positioning it the way it was and returned to his own position inside of the doorway.

Everything was in its rightful place. Nothing out of the sorts, no clothing tossed aside, nothing to suggest she was the least bit messy. Not even the bed where they almost...

Draco leaned in and closed the door. The finality of the click echoed, not in the hallway, but in his head. It rung and he knew that he would never go back. Not to that room with its painful ways that dug up recollections. Her hair, her smile, her lectures. Sister or otherwise, she was the most important girl in his life. That wouldn't change, and it sent the deepest hurt inside of his gut that he couldn't protect her. She chose her bloody friends over him.

He was never first in her life. Not since they were twelve. He hated himself for that, too. He never told her that, and now it was too late. Too late to save her and himself.

Draco turned to go outside, to take his broom and fly far away. For an hour? Maybe two. Maybe like her, he would never come back.

That was a lie.

He wanted her home. He would wait forever for her to come home.

He took one step, and stopped. He heard voices. Mother and father. He knew better than to listen, but he heard his sisters name. His interest piqued, and he crept closer to the study door.

"I have no control, you know this, Narcissa."

"She's our daughter. There must be something."

"If there was, do you not believe I would act to protect her? She is my daughter."

"Would we let this happen to Draco? Is it because she's not ours?"

"Possibly," he allowed. "She saved my life. All of our lives. We owed her that. We would have never learned to love her if it were not for that chance given by the Dark Lord."

"She'll never know. I am not sure if it's wise to not tell Draco."

"There is no doubt our son," he said the last two words with disdain, "harbors feelings for her that are most unbrotherly, but we must obey the Dark Lord's wishes."

"Lucius... Is it lunacy for me to wish she knew the truth, and we love her."

"Narcissa, I killed her parents and stole her from her home. We've masqueraded her as our own for seventeen years. You may be suffering from lunacy, my love. I believe I am, too. I do not want our Hermione to hate us."

"Neither do I. Only, she will not know... Her death is imminent. She is a muggle-born. A Granger."

"She will die a Malfoy."

Draco felt dizzy.

Granger.

Muggleborn.

Father.

Murderer.

Lies.

Liars.

Draco felt sick - a literal sick. His stomach twisted.

His sister was a muggle-born. His sister wasn't his sister.

He wretched in the next room, in his mother's favorite Peperomias, an ugly potted plant both him and Hermione hated.


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Hermione Granger**

Hermione had just spat out the toothpaste in her mouth when she heard yelling echoing itself up to her. Noises were not strange in the Weasley house. In fact, Hermione could not recall a single second of silence. While her house echoed of silence, the Weasley's echoed of laughter, explosions, and love.

This echo was nothing of the sort. It was loud, abrasive, and angry and scared. She threw her toothbrush in the bowl and ran down the numerous steps, familiar with the uneven paneling of wood that she no longer had to watch so carefully. She met with Harry and Ron on the second floor, running right into each other.

"Fred and George," Ron blamed.

Together they joined the other house members in the kitchen. It was crowded, but among the sea of red hair, the blond stood out significantly.

"Draco!"

Bruised with a cut lip, he smiled painfully at his sister. "Herms. Tell your friends to get their filthy hands off me. This is a good robe."

Like a fish, her mouth gapped open and closed. It was needless to say that his robe was not in the pristine condition that it used to be in, with the dirt and rips it had suffered - undoubtedly from Fred and George, both of whom looked at her to tell them what to do.

"What do you want, Drake?"

"Tell the them to let me go!"

Her heart hammered. Was he there on account of the Snake-Man? Or was he there for her? She walked up to him, and crouched low to see his face, to give him a chance to say it only to her. "What are you doing here," she asked him again, clearer and more demanding than the first time.

"I have news for you."

"Is it from you or from someone else we know?"

He shook his head, "from me, Herms, I swear."

She stood. Did she have a choice but to believe in him? He was her brother. "Let him go."

Fred and George looked like they would have wanted to do anything else in the world, but they did as she said, but not without dropping him to the floor. Draco grunted.

"Don't get blood on the tile," George said.

Draco paid them no mind. When he was on his feet he ran at Hermione and embraced her tightly.

"Great family reunion here," Fred said, "but we don't know what you're here for."

Draco held her hand in his own. "My sister."

George said, "we told you outside, you're not getting her."

Draco turned to Hermione. "We need to talk. It's important."

"I'm not going back."

He smiled. "It's not like that. Is there anyplace private in this zoo?"  
>While the term was wrong, she couldn't help but find herself grinning at that. He knew what a muggle zoo was. For that, she let the insult on her friends pass, and she took his hand to led him up the numerous crooked staircases to the room she shared with Ginny.<p>

The moment she closed the door, he grabbed her face, and kissed her forehead, his lips trailing down her nose and finally her lips. He drunk her in hungrily, and she lost her mind. She responded with as much enthusiasm, holding onto his neck for dear life.

Then, she pushed him roughly away, gasping for breath. "Draco," she cried.

"No." He shook his head. "Hermione, there's something you have to know. I don't know how to tell you..." Excitement laced his voice. "You're not my sister."

She furrowed her brows. It was stupidity. She should have known better. She grabbed her wand and pointed at the tip of his nose. Draco blanched ("oy!"). "What is the first story Draco Malfoy read to me when we were children?"

He smirked. "Sleeping Beauty. Aurora was the only name that was any good out of those bloody muggle stories."

She lowered her wand, but the worry and fear didn't die. It gripped her midsection painfully, and he gripped her shoulders, leading her to sit on Ginny's bed. He sat beside her, and took her hand. "You were born Hermione Jean Granger to two muggle parents."

"This is not funny, Drake."

"It's the truth."

"How do you know this?"

"I overheard father speaking to mother about it. He... He killed your parents, Hermione, and took you when you were a baby. It was on the Dark Lord's order. He had no choice," he added, hoping to defend their - his father in some way. The fact was, Hermione knew her father was a Death Eater, she only never knew that her father was a cold-blooded killer. Or whoever the man she called a father all of her life was. She should have known he killed, but she was a child and she disillusioned herself to believe something better of him, that he was different from all the rest.

She wrenched her hand away and stood. "Why?"

"I don't know."

"It can't be true. Why would he want me? I was a baby!"

"The Dark Lord has many resources. He knew you were going to be magical. He wanted Potter, did he not?"

She shook her head, the tears burning. "Get out."

He got up, but made no move toward the door. "Don't be sad," he whispered. It sounded rehearsed. "You're still my sister. Father and mother are still your parents. They raised you - us. Blood or not -"

"When did you not care about blood, Draco?"

"When I heard that you weren't my sister! You are my sister, Hermione, I don't care who your mudblood parents were -" He ducked and the door behind him exploded.

Hermione barely registered that she had taken out her wand. All she saw were the young faces of the crowded Weasley's and Harry. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George were gathered around the rubble. Fred was wiping the dirt and black off his cheek.

"I'm a mudblood, Draco. If this is true, then I'm a mudblood!"

She went to rush past him, but he grabbed her arms and pulled her against him. "No! Where you go, I go. That's the new deal. I'm abandoning my post, Herms. Now I'm wanted just as much as you and Potter and all of the red-haired blood-traitors."

Tears were coursing down her face, she felt them trickle down her neck, licking at her collarbones. She felt weak and stupid, and it was one of the two most feelings Hermione never wanted to feel. She broke out of his grasp and ran out of the room, down the staircases, and out into the garden, ignoring Mrs. Weasley's concerned yells.

If she wasn't Hermione Malfoy, and she was indeed this Hermione Granger, then the question was who was Hermione Granger? Who was she at all?


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Against the World**

"He tried to kill me, too."

Hermione glimpsed at Harry beside her, but her eyes returned to the billion of stars twinkling down at her, as if they held some sort of secret. She wished to curse herself for making wishes on them. This was not her wish. What she was imagining before was a child's daydream. Wishes didn't exist.

"I know, Harry."

"I was a baby. It was a prophecy. You reckon there was one about you?"

"Two prophecies?"

"Why not?"

"That is highly unlikely."

"He's right, though. You don't look like him."

She sucked in a deep breath and turned her face into his shoulder. She didn't want to cry in front of him, she knew how it made him uncomfortable, but it was hard to stop the tears once they begun. They stung and begged for release, and they overflowed past her bottom lashes and onto her cheeks. It was a swift kick in her midsection when she realized that this - this feeling must be what Harry dealt with every day of his life for all of his life. A sudden realization that they did not choose their fate, their lives were not their own.

Harry held her gently but firmly, pressing her against him with none of the awkwardness that he presented when usually comforting her. She sobbed harder into his shirt. Harry felt sorry for her. Empathy more - yes. He was empathizing with her and it did none to help. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was empathizing with her as she lived his life for the last 90 minutes.

"My brother, Harry. My brother."

Clearly not knowing what to do, he patted her back. It was enough for her.

"Why," she cried, not expecting an answer.

"I know why."

Harry kept a hand on her back as they faced Draco, who was standing awkwardly at the door to the kitchen. They waited for him to say more, to explain. Draco looked like he wanted to do anything but. He looked sick.

"Potter, do you mind leaving?" It was said in his normal tone reserved for those lower to him - which, mind, was most of society.

"Yes, I do," he said sternly.

Draco rolled his eyes upward. "I'm not going to do anything. Those Weasel twins have my wand and in case you've forgotten, she's my sister."

Harry took a step toward him, and Hermione's hand itched to grab him before a physical fight began. "More my sister than yours, Malfoy. You haven't been around, remember? You're not her real brother. Your father is a murderer, and you will be too -"

Draco threw a punch, but Harry dodged, and instead, Draco hit his shoulders hard, but Harry kept his stance. Draco brought himself to his full height, his storm eyes meeting with pickled green.

Hermione wedged herself between them, a hand to each of their chests. "Stop it. Stop it, now! Harry, go inside."

"Hermione -"

"Trust me," she pleaded.

Harry shot Draco a lethal and silent warning and went into the kitchen.

Draco placed his hand over hers. The cool clamminess of his palm shocked her, as though he was nervous. Draco rarely ever produced sweat, though, he rarely did anything so laborious to cause it

"I am sorry, Herms."

She could feel his heartbeat. It was pounding at a rapid speed, the tempo worrying her. "Draco.. Who were my parents?"

"Our parents -"

"No!" She teared. "_My_ parents, Drake. Granger, didn't you say?"

"What do they matter?"

Incredulous, she stared at him wide-eyed. "I was born to them. Now, they're dead."

"They've been dead. They were just muggles."

She rounded, and with full force she brought the palm of her hand on his cheek. It resounded in the garden, echoing in her ears.

"I'm a muggle," she screamed hoarsely. "Your father killed my parents."

"Our father." He was insistent about that, and she hated it.

"The cellar makes perfect sense." She was shrill, hysteria in her voice. "They hated housing a dirty mudblood. I contaminated their lives by breathing!"

Draco grabbed her arms, his hands like vices. He wrestled her to the ground, setting her firmly on her bum and bent his face to hers. "Listen good here, Hermione. Father and mother loved you. They didn't at first, but they do now. I love you. Father was ordered. Mudblood or not, you're a Malfoy. You're my sister. Merlin's sakes, I came to the Weasley's!"

She was still breathing hard. Her chest felt bruised and her lungs felt raw. In her wholeness she felt like someone ran her over hot coals and hung her to die.

"It's you and me," Draco declared softly.

The tears continued to pour, her heart continued to break, but she was breathing easier. Draco was with her. They were safe. For the moment.

"Say something."

"It's imperative that we stay together." She spoke the bottom line of her thoughts. What she was really thinking was what the Dark Lord and their - his parents would do to him.

Draco didn't smile, not at first. Then, his hands loosened and he hugged her. He squeezed her so close she lost her air again.

"We will. You and me against the world."

"Which world?"

"All of them." He kissed her forehead. "And, so you know, I like the name Granger."

There were many things he told her. Like why her biological parents were killed. There were also many things he did not tell her. Like his relief of not being related to her. It makes their whole sordid snogging a tad bit less incestuous. Like his hope of more kissing and a different relationship. Like his desperate need to never lose her again. If she didn't feel the same, then he would remain her brother. He would. He could do that. Couldn't he?

Draco's stomach churned with disgust at himself. No matter if she fancied him, there would always be the fact that for seventeen years they were brother and sister. She was his sister.

He truly was a despicable human being. But he loved her. He loved her so much he hated himself.

"I love you, Hermione."

She embraced him. "I love you, too."

She didn't mean it romantically, of course. She would never love him that way. If nothing else could break his soul, she could. However, for that fraction of time, he would delude himself to believing she did love him. Even if it did break his soul.

Draco never wanted to let her go. Although they were in the same house, it felt like he was losing her again, even as he held her there in the garden of the Weasley's. To dispel his fear, he would change their fate. That night, he would never leave Hermione's side again.

"Herms?" He brought out his Slytherin school tie from his pocket, and placed it over her neck.

"What are you doing, Drake?" She hiccuped.

He held up her tie from his other pocket, and made a show of tying it around his own neck. "Houses and colors and blood and wars are rubbish. You're everything to me."

She teared and held him close. He saw their ties next to each other. He decided that they went together fine.


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Alone**

Draco hated long stories and boring weddings. He never told Hermione that. She was beautiful in the wedding, and he didn't want to ruin it, or his chances or a dance.

It was ruined anyway.

The wedding between the Veela girl and one of the thousands of Weasley's was crashed by Death Eaters, and then they lived in his cousin's old house until they broke into the Ministry of Magic and had to go and live in tents. The only upside was that they had a Horcrux. A locket that they each wore for a period of time, and he tried to be positive that being some dumpy man in the Ministry by Polyjuice Potion was worth it, but the thought of holding a fragment of Voldemort's soul made him sick.

From the borrowed tent, she created a duplicate for Draco. It was lonesome in the tent that housed two rooms and a bath, but it was better than being with Potter and Weasley, but barely. They had his sister occupied with theories and stories and that damn wireless they listened to religiously. Draco could hear it due to their close proximity, and because he reckoned the Weasel must have been deaf.

He hated searching for pieces of a soul that he once served. He hated Hermione's cooking. He hated the dangerous exploits they've already been on. He hated Potter. He hated Weasley. He hated the depression that came with being with the two blokes. He hated being apart from her. He hated everything.

Oh, and then Weasley the King snapped and left. It was a rainy night and Draco feared Hermione would catch her death standing out there yelling at the trees. He brought her back inside but she didn't speak. Neither did Harry – but that was a reprieve – or should have been. It was odd. As though the absence left them with something missing.

It was real to him then, their friendship, how close they had grown, and it left him with a fire of jealousy. Jealousy at how quickly Hermione decided to stay, as if it weren't a decision at all, and going to see Potter's parents graves, nearly getting killed by the snake. How she always had been willing to risk her lives for them.

As he had dressed from his bath he heard her yelling over the splattering of rain and construction of mud puddles. Her cry sent a knife through his midsection.

Draco ducked under the flap to see her shaking in the cold. The rain made streams down her face, making it impossible to discern which were tears. Taking her in his arms, he led her into Potter's tent. It was not his first choice, but it was what Hermione would have wanted.

Potter laid a blanket over her and sat in the far corner, brooding. Draco instead stayed at Hermione's side, waving his wand to dry her. She cried herself to sleep, and he allowed that night of mourning. The next nights, however, he brought her to his tent. It was only right, that the siblings should stay together.

At night, in the dead of winter (dead being the operative word) in the camp bed. Three blankets piled on top of them, rolled them at all ends, their hands clasped between them, breathing each other's breath in tandem. It was the one time that Draco didn't regret his decision to go with his sister (as opposed to dragging her kicking and screaming back to the Manor). It was the only time that he felt complete and invincible. Nothing could hurt him as long as Hermione was there, keeping him warm, and him keeping her safe.

One night, he brushed the hair from her face. Night had wrapped them in its icy grip, her breath warmed his face, and her body was so deliciously close to his it made him ache in all the wrong and right ways. He gazed at her, drinking her in. Her tangled bushy hair, and the puffy eyelids, and the lip, the bottom one with dried blood where she had been biting it while reading that book of runes.

Then, his heart slammed to a stop as she opened her eyes. Brown, flecked with darker bits of brown. A world of beauty and depth. He suddenly wanted to tell her. Tell her everything. There was no better time.

"Do you know what this is like, Hermione?" She stared, almost unseeingly, as if she wasn't quite awake. He continued on, half-hoping that was the case. "Imagine, if you will, your deepest heart's desire, and life deciding that there is no possible way you are to have it. Imagine that it would make all the difference in the world." He brought his hand out of hers, and brought it to her waist, feeling her hip bone, feeling the flesh, feeling _her. _He spoke low, with every ounce of feeling inside of him. "You're my heart's desire, Hermione. You would've made the difference." He pressed his hips against hers, his nose trailing her cheek. "I've waited ages to be with you. Don't say no. Please. Don't deny me. You want me, too." He wanted the latter statement to be true. He wanted it so badly, he said it aloud to the one person that could tell him if it was.

After a long silence, she said, "hoping doesn't get you far, Draco."

"I'm done with hoping. I'll make it happen." He did indeed to make it happen, but it didn't happen that night. Her eyes fluttered closed, and he rested against her. He would be content with holding her as close.

Those nights made the day exploits worth it. It made Christmas worth spending it in a freezing graveyard looking for long dead names that belonged to long dead people, and it made it worth fighting Nagini. It all came tumbling down when Weasley came back. Draco could care less he saved Potter from the stupid pond. He could care less about anything but the girl he was there to protect. The girl that returned to Potter's tent. He would deem it inappropriate if Draco hadn't been the only one of the three boys to have made a move on Hermione.

On Christmas he was away from his parents, his home, and his sister was missing someone his family always hated. He counted it as his worst Christmas ever.

When he found her beside Potter on the bunk, tending to his wounds, he quietly whispered, "merry Christmas, Hermione."

She dropped the rag from Potter's forehead. "Merry Christmas, Draco."

"You remember that Christmas when I gave you that series of books you'd been eying for months?"

"I gave you the Quidditch safety gear."

"I remember asking for a broom."

"It was more than my allowance."

"Was it because of Potter?"

She fully turned to him then. "What are you getting at, Drake?"

"Was it because you were Gryffindor, he's your best mate and you wanted him to win?"

"Yes."

His chest constricted. He knew the answer but hearing it still sent him a surge of anger toward Potter and the Gryffindors and his sister.

"Father bought the whole Slytherin team new brooms!" She sighed and placed the rag on the table, standing to face him. The air tightened, it strained, and it crackled. "I'm a muggle-born Gryffindor. I have brown hair and brown eyes. I have the best grades in my year. I ran away from home and school to help my friends defeat the darkest wizard known to human kind. Father has never been proud of me. I'm not his daughter."  
>"That's rubbish -"<p>

"Is it? He's favored you and it now makes sense! I wasn't adopted out of love, I was adopted from murder and force." She closed her eyes, and grabbed her wand moving it across her hand, a trail of blood flowing. She held up her wound for him to see. "Is it dirty, Draco? Tell me! Tell me, the mudblood Granger girl."

His anger built up. She enraged him. He took his wand and made the same cut across his own palm. It singed and stung and. He slammed the cut against hers. He held her hand tight, their blood mingling, trickling down their wrist. "Now mine is dirty too."

Hermione didn't stop crying. "You don't have to stay."

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you."

He stared at her lips. They were dry but they were her lips. He wanted her so badly in that moment the ache turned into a monster, claiming that he kiss her. Yet, he settled for kissing her hairline at her forehead.

Hermione fetched her bag, extracting a vial, and healing both of their hands.

That jealousy didn't cease that night. It did, however, dissipate when Ron found them once more, destroying the locket, and Hermione still hit him. Hit him loads more times than she had ever hit Draco.

It was winter and Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco were still living in tents. Draco hated tents. He hated sleeping outside with things with teeth. Despite that Hermione casted a good spell to keep everything unwanted out, he still hated it. He missed his parents, he missed his three meals a day, and he missed being with Hermione.

Once, when delivering him the stench she called dinner, she asked, "you have not budged a bit, have you?"

"I helped you dig the seaweed out."

"It's not seaweed, Drake. Honestly, didn't you learn anything in Herbology? Seaweed only grows in -"

He waved her off, "save it."

"What I meant was, haven't you warmed up to Harry and Ron?"

"Did you think some camping was going to entice male bonding? I'd rather pass, Herms. And so you're aware, this is not camping. This is hiding away in a multitude of horrendous places until Potty there gathers what all this rubbish means."

She blushed scarlet. "The book is not rubbish, I know it means something."

"Those runes are rubbish."

Heat radiated off of her pink cheeks, and she stood, but didn't walk out before Draco caught her wrist, pulling her to him, her hips meeting his the way it always did in his dreams sans the clothes. "I'm sorry," he said hurriedly and quietly (in case the others could hear). "I miss home."  
>"Me too. We will figure this out. We're close. We know there are seven Horcruxes and three of them are now destroyed."<p>

"I feel useless here. What is there for me to do? Stare at the change of scenery?"

She smiled. "You can keep us company."

"There are three of you." He pointed that out with the same malice he used when they were in their Second Year and it was evident that he could do nothing to drag her away from them.

"You weren't around when we..." She bowed her head, ashamed for bringing up his own thoughts, but he didn't want her ashamed. He wanted her hurting for leaving him out in Hogwarts. For choosing them and not him. For bringing him in this very situation where he had to look at their ugly mugs every day.

She retreated, leaving him with food that he would wretch, and a heart that he couldn't mend, because no matter what they learned of their true selves, Hermione would never see him as anything but her brother.

Worse yet, they still had to find and defeat the last two Horcruxes, and no one knew what they were or where they were hidden.


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Draco's Nightmare**

_"Draco! Help me!"_

_ Hermione was caught in the grasp of a cloak, its sleeves wrapped around her tightly as she yelled for him, writhing. He wanted to help her, but his feet would not move. He was immobilized, watching his sister in untold, unseen pain. He opened his mouth to yell back, to beg her to fight, but he was a frozen statue. There was nothing he could do. He was an onlooker of his own greatest Boggart._

_ Then, the cloak bent and it latched its mouth on hers, sucking out her soul._

_ "Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!" He yelled again and again, but it wouldn't cease. Hermione paled and she became worse than a ghost, and his yelling was having no effect. Why wasn't she fighting? Why couldn't she remember him?_

_ In his head, he thought of her. Catching her twirling in her black skirt and Gryffindor tie in her room, crying in his arms after he talked her into flying, dancing with her at the party, her at the Yule Ball, her. Just her._

_ "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

Draco turned and clawed at his pillow. His breath and tears were fast but they were slow to cease. It stayed with him, the images burned into his head. His little sister in the arms of death itself, and being helpless to prevent it.

Shakily, he stood and wobbly made his way to the basin. Splashing his face with the cool river water, he let the mixture of water and sweat drip from his chin. It was a moment he would remember a thousand times over as the moment his nightmare came true. When he had composed himself properly the real world crashed around him.

"THE NAME IS TABOO!" Draco heard Weasley yell from the other tent, and a second later there was screaming and the popping of apparition, and Draco wrenched his wand from the inside of his robe and raced out.

It was there in the woods they were hidden in that he saw the form of his nightmares. It was real, it was tangible, and it frightened Draco to the point of stunning Greyback, but it was only a second's worth of victory, for coiled ropes attacked him, binding his arms and legs, and he fell to the hard ground.

Potter, Weasley, and Hermione were both being held by two Death Eaters, Draco's eyes stinging from the sweat that he could barely see who they were. Potter himself looked odd, more distorted than what his vision could be accountable for. Either a Death Eater got carried away or... His scar, it was stretched, barely ascertained in the darkness and flashes of wand light. It occurred to him then that Hermione must have done it.

_Clever girl,_ he thought, but that was it. They were caught. Not even Hermione's brains could get them out of the mess Potter got them into. The voices, their discussions, their careful and poorly disguised names. While Snatchers were stupid, it was all doomed. One of them would recognize them. Potter could only hide behind a spell for so long.

One Death Eater bent next to him, as if he was something to eat. "Draco Malfoy."

Draco buried his face into the earth. It was the lowest thing he could do, but he could not allow them to see real tears, to see him break so horribly.

They were as good as dead. What could his family say to a traitor? They didn't have a choice. He didn't have a choice.

Draco could have killed Potter, but he was far more concerned with Hermione. His muggle-born sister, who looked nothing like a Malfoy or a Black. He had more of a chance than her. He could turn sides, he really could kill Potter, but Hermione... Hermione was as good as dead.

Wrenched up, they were tied to each other like animals. He fought, he wouldn't stop fighting. Hermione begged him to be still, to not cause more trouble for them. He wasn't listening to her.

"Stop! Drake, please!"

"I won't!" He lowered his voice, leaning his head against hers, his shaggy blond hair crossing her brown tresses, his lips to the lobe of her ear. "I won't give up. I won't let them touch you. I won't ever stop fighting for you. Whatever the cost is, I'll pay it."

"This isn't a book you can steal, Draco, or a broom you can buy. We are in real trouble."

"No one knows that better than I do."

"Shut up!" Fenrir growled.

"We're Malfoy's you git," Draco yelled. "You can't treat us this way!" But no one listened, and as he pulled on his bindings someone barreled their fist into him. Hermione yelped, he cursed, and things went black.


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Returning to the Manor**

"NO! HERMIONE!"

Harry and Ron were taken roughly away, Ron screaming at the top of his lungs. He struggled, and then made a gurggling sound as his throat was constricted. He gasped, still crying, and she could do nothing to reach them. She was bound and laid like an animal at a feast.

Nose gushing blood into his mouth, his eye blackening, Draco was like a beaten doll, thrown to his knees before his king. His Dark Lord looked down at him with revolution before announcing to the Malfoy family in his sleek, snake-like voice. "You have betrayed me."

"My Lord -"

"You are not to speak, Lucius! Look upon your son. He has fallen in love with the mudblood."

Hermione didn't chance a look at her father or her mother. None of it mattered anymore. They were all sitting at death's door. Voldemort hovered over them with the Elder wand.

She could feel her parents gaze on her and Draco. Many nights she had spent praying for her parents (or who she confused for her parents for most of her life) praying that they were safe. She didn't know the strength or will Draco kept to risk leaving. Then again, he must have known Snake-Man wouldn't harm them. No, he had to keep them alive if he had any hope of getting Draco and Hermione to return. No, as long as they were away, they were safe.

The Dark Lord laughed, high and cruel. "Does my eyes betray me too?" He approached her, and Hermione felt ice's death on her cheek. The whimper died in her throat, she didn't dare move away, but her disgust showed on her face.

"Do you love your brother?"

She knew better than to think Voldemort could read love. No, he could only read minds, and before her eyes were flashing images of her and Draco, of just Draco. The last one of them arguing as she held the scissors to cut his hair, insisting that he wouldn't have her use those "dreaded muggle things."

"Please," Hermione gasped, not taking her eyes off of Draco. If she focused on him then she would keep the strength it took not to look into Voldemort's eyes. It would show her soul, how much she indeed felt for her brother. "Don't hurt him."

He raised his lips to show his sharp teeth, his snake-like nostrils pulling and his eyes flattening. "Your purpose has been fulfilled, Hermione Granger."

That was as good as any death sentence. When her bindings fell, she crawled quickly to Draco. His eyes were locked on hers as she embraced him so tightly he cried. Her shoulder felt warm and thick where his face laid. His blood. "I love you, Drake. I love you."

Hermione gave one last drinking look to her parents. The ones that raised her, regardless of their flaws. Her mother shielded halfway behind her father. They appeared older. Her father developed a scruffy face, dark rims under his eyes, his hair longer. Her mother's hair was limp, her lips dry and cracked. They watched her sadly, knowing what was going to happen but doing nothing to prevent it. They couldn't.

It was like that in the Malfoy and Black family. Blood was everything, even above their children. She never expected less.

"She's all yours, Bellatrix."

Draco didn't respond, he slid and thudded to the floor as she was forced away by her shoulders by the cat-claws of Aunt Bellatrix.

"Crucio!"

Hermione's screams ripped through him, tearing at his insides. In those horrifying minutes he no longer trusted his own blood, he no longer felt his bodily pains. All he could hear, see, feel, was his sister's cries. His beautiful, perfect little sister.

"Herm," he whispered, hoping that the small breath of air would reach her ears. That somewhere beneath everything she would feel him feeling her. "Herms..." He couldn't see her eyes, her head turned away, a mass of brown hair. He couldn't see those eyes he loved so very much.

It killed him, the thought that she would die, but it worse, her dying never knowing that she was right. Blood didn't matter. Everything would go unfinished, that he couldn't assure her that she was his sister and no matter what anyone said, she belonged. She belonged to him.

A hand slapped the floor, an arm jerked; the owner was flailing. Tears coursed her face, blood spots became smears on the floor and across her cheek. She sounded like she was dying and in her thinness, she looked it too.

The Dark Lord stood beside him, watching gleefully as the seventeen-year-old girl died from the inside out. And Draco had nothing to lose by pulling a "Potter." They were all going to die, everything was doomed. Whatever the cost... Whatever it took... For her.

Preparing for the pain, Draco lunged up and seized the Dark Lord's wand from his spidery hand. The pain was someplace else, replaced by pure adrenalin. Pure heartache. Pure fear.

"Stupefy!"

The Dark Lord fell and Draco faced his deranged aunt. The murderous rage slipped and she gleamed brighter than the knife she held to her niece's neck.

"Do it, Draco. Do it."

His hand shook. "Aunt Bellatrix... Let her go."

"Aw, does my only nephew love the mudblood. The Dark Lord shares everything with me! This girl's blood is dirty. You are spoiled, Draco."

He closed his eyes for one second, and opened them to find a trail of blood, a river down Hermione's neck. It stained the collar of her shirt. Red splotched on gray. Red stained everything. It was all he saw. "Stup -"

"Immobulus!"

Aunt Bellatrix fell. Draco, wild-eyed, looked for the source. His mother was pointing the wand, her eyes sad, her face as hard as marble. With her steel-toed boot, she kicked her sister off of her daughter, and Lucius gathered the unconscious Hermione into his arms.

In a great pain, nails in the bones of his legs, Draco fell gratefully to the floor, the wand clattering out of his grasp.

"Release Potter and his friends from the dungeons now," his father told his mother, who was fawning over Draco's wounds. "Let them deal with the others accordingly."

Draco rested his head on the floor, keeping his eyes parted only slightly to see the dangling feet of Hermione, some comfort that she was there and she was safe. Her small and innocent feet that spent many a day and night underneath her as she read on the couch.

"You did good, my son."

"Is she..."

"She's alive."

It was the sweetest words he would hear. Nothing else mattered, and he descended into oblivion.


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Dumb Hufflepuffs**

Voldemort disappeared before Potter and Weasley returned to the drawing room. At least, that was what Draco was told when he woke. That night, gathered in his bedroom, they argued and decided upon a plan.

Hermione refused stay home, but go with Potter and Weasley. Draco begged her to stay (quite embarrassingly  
>so) with mother and father, but she went anyway, and therefore, he went with her.<p>

It was hard to keep track of the last twenty-four hours. They left the sleeping Malfoy house by sunrise and traveled to Diagon Alley and they met up with Dumbledore's brother, an old geezer. They met in the Room of Requirement at the astonishing leadership of Longbottom where it seemed every house but his joined to fight. That was how he ended up flying into the fireplace. Some dumb Hufflepuff thought he had the trio by wand. It took too long for the stars in his eyes to dissipate but by that time they had explained Draco was fighting for the "good" side. He resented that.

He didn't touch her enough, look to her enough before they were fighting. It was like waking after a long day; you had difficulty remembering exactly what took place before you went to bed.

Sweat poured, his clothes torn and dirty. He didn't let Hermione out of his sight, which meant that they all fought together. Him and the damn "trio."

Green, red, gold, white sparks flew. They criss-crossed like ill-fated muggle fireworks. The floor was hot and it cracked under their feet. The walls were blown away, rubble of stones and gravel piled on the grounds where they once played as children.

Find the snake. Kill Hufflepuff's cup. Yeah, he really wanted to kill that cup given that his head was still sore, but Weasley and him gave Hermione the pleasure. The silky voice echoed off Slytherin's chambers, off the skeleton of the giant snake.

"You're not worthy! Mudblood! Loving of noble-blood! Never good enough!" She was stunned, crying, and Draco had almost taken the Basilisk fang from her when she lodged it in a black jewel and set the place screaming.

He had never been prouder of his sister. So proud, he didn't ask what the cup meant by loving someone of noble-blood. If he heard her say the Weasel's name, someone else would be stabbed with the Basilisk fang.

As Harry set off to figure out how to defeat the Dark Lord (something he should have figured out long ago, according to Draco), they continued to fight. They destroyed the Diadem. That was where they ran into Crabbe and Goyle.

"You're a disgrace, Draco! Having a mudblood sister!"

Hermione stopped him from killing him, but that mattered not because they ran and Crabbe set a cursed fire loose from his wand. He died, and so did the diadem. Draco probably should have been sad, but Crabbe had tried to kill Hermione. They were never his friends. His own enemies were better friends and just that fact had set him fighting harder than anyone.

The castle exploded once high up on some floor and stones fell. Draco fell on top of Hermione stones beating his back. If he thought that sent his heart in misery, it was when they broke out of the rubble and found Weasley, Potter and another Weasley over a Weasley twin. Draco didn't know who it was exactly, but Hermione looked as though she was being tortured again.

They didn't have long. A Death Eater found them, and Draco jumped in front of Hermione, yelling without thinking, "get behind me, Granger," and sent the wizard flailing. The boys grabbed the twin, and they were off again, Draco's sore legs carrying his, his back complaining.

They found themselves in the Whomping Willow. Draco glancing at Hermione in the darkness. He wondered how much she had gone through with them. She knew how to get in, knew her way around. He felt a renewed jealousy in his bones.

Draco had a lot to make up for, but maybe this was a start, but that hope was sent dashing. He heard the Dark Lord's voice and Snape's screams. His teacher, the wizard who protected Draco, who took the Unbreakable Vow to keep him safe.

Draco was tired by then. Tired of death. Tired of blood. Tired of worrying. Just tired. He wanted nothing more than to go home, but Hermione wasn't going anywhere and neither was he.

Then, Harry Potter had to be the hero. While Hermione mourned with the Weasley's over their son and brother's death and Draco helped gather the dead into the Great Hall, he noticed that Potter disappeared. As he peered around him, his death was announced by that most awful voice.

At the mention of Potter's death, Hagrid carrying him to the castle, Hermione screamed and she fell into Draco's arms. He held her, not taking his eyes off of the lump in the great oaf's arms. She was blubbering something, something that sounded like, "Harry, oh Harry."

He hated Potter. There was a lot of times that he hated him. He hated him when he did better, won a match, laughed with Hermione, and he would always hate him for taking Hermione away from him. Draco hated Potter more than anyone, but that day he hated Potter more than he ever hated him before, because Potter was their last chance. It was up to him, it was on his shoulders, Draco and Hermione's safety.

Then, that tosspot "woke" and began fighting. Draco almost killed him right there, but there was Bellatrix who sent a curse at Hermione's back. And there he and Hermione were, fighting Bellatrix. Weaslette and Lovegood came soon after, fighting alongside them. That was the fight he remembered most, and not because it was his aunt he was trying to subdue, but because Mrs. Weasley, the plump woman of seven came running forth, breaking them up and slaying the witch to the ground.

Hermione grabbed Draco's hand, pulled him away from the body of his aunt, and that was when the real war was won, by Harry freaking Potter.


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Tears of Lucius**

"How long have I been asleep?"

The steel eyes of Draco's father's were half closed, but his hands tight on the arm rests of the chair. "Days," he responded.

Draco's eyes fell on Hermione, fast asleep on the hunter green couch in his bedroom. Her head laid on her left arm, her other hanging over, her hair spilled over her neck, covering the scar that was surely there. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, to see the scar for himself, to look into her eyes and know that he did well. That she was truly safe.

"How long has she been there," he asked his father.

"Days." He linked his fingers slowly. "I find this remarkable, son. You joined your sister and her friends to destroy... Him." It was obvious he was going to say "our lord," but he stopped himself.

"I went to _protect _her."

His father looked upon her and nodded. "You did. I'm proud of you, Draco."

"You're not angry with me?"

"No. I should be, but you're both alive. That is all that matters now."

Draco didn't take his gaze off his sister. When his father excused himself to tend to the house-elves he wasted no time in throwing off his covers and kneeling at her side. He touched her forehead, her cheek.

Brown eyes settled on his face, drinking him in. Then, her arms flung around him. She clung to him as he moved to lie beside her. He held her face, and silently pleaded. One moment to feel her, before he was forced to give her up.

But it was her lips that crashed on his. It was her that moved against him. It was her with tears in her eyes, her throaty whisper.

"I love you, Drake."

He answered in kissing her, pressing her into the cushions.

It was worth the price any day, having gone with Potter and Weasley to live in destitute. Risking everything he held dear to hold her. He loved her more than his blood, his status, his money. She was his family. He couldn't express any of that into words, so he moved his lips against hers.

The war was truly over.

Forlorn, Hermione stood in the doorway of the lounge. Lucius Malfoy sat in his favorite chair, the Daily Prophet hiding his face. The fire roared, and the reflection gleamed in the black windows. Like any other night, except... It wasn't.

She had slept for far too long. So many things crowded into her head. She spent the last two hours crying with Draco, over the loss of good friends and Draco's gain in her. Over their shared blessings.

"Father?"

The paper creased, and upon seeing her he stood in haste, grappling her in his strong arms. "My dear daughter."

She inhaled the smoky scent of him, his long fair hair tickling her nose. She wondered how her other father smelled. Surely, nothing like him.

"I feel fine," she told him.

"I'll have Dobby -"

"No." She winced at her disobedience, but no more - no more hatred. She walked past him and sat on the edge of the couch, her hands twisting in her lap. He sat beside her, prepared to listen, his face impassive.

She took a deep breath. "I'm going to return to Hogwarts. I want to be a lawyer. I want to free the house -elves."

His eyes narrowed, displeased, but she steeled herself. "And of Draco?"

Hermione felt a heavier pressure on her chest. Her lashes lowered, concealing her eyes. "I love him."

"He's your brother, Hermione. I don't approve of this."

"Not in blood." She stood, feeling far more shaky on the inside than what she hoped was on display. "And your approval - it does not matter. I will be with him."

"How can you be this selfish?"

"How can you?" Hermione turned away from the infliction in her tone. She had never yelled at him before, but he had to see. "You killed my parents." She met his eyes. "You murdered my parents! You sent me to live in a cellar!"

Lucius stumbled back, as if she had physically stricken him.

"I am not your daughter." Fresh tears coursed her cheeks and she had it fully in mind to run to her room, but he held her arm, stopping her from moving past him.

"I have something to show you."

Hermione watched as he retrieved the Daily Prophet from the arm of the couch. He opened it and handed her what was tucked between its pages. He watched her carefully.

It was a photo, but unlike the photos in the magical world she grew up in, they did not move. They stayed still, the man and woman posing with an infant girl with a pink bow in her hair. The man had brown eyes and large front teeth, exactly like hers; her mother's hair was bushy and wild, like hers. They both peered lovingly down on her, cradling her so fondly in their arms.

Hermione fell back into the couch, her hand over her mouth. More tears poured as two distinct feelings collided. Happiness and sadness, they burst inside of her and she shook with the explosion. Her fingertips touched her mother's face, and she could barely contain it.

Finally, she gazed at her father. The pieces in her head clicked together. Yes, he killed her parents to sacrifice her to Voldemort, but it truly was not that way. Just as Draco betrayed his family and his bloodline to keep her safe, he did what he had to do to keep his family safe. He never truly hated her, for he took a picture. For her.

"As Draco is not your brother, am I not your father?"

She touched his hand, squeezing it. She looked into her father's cold eyes. She cried, sore with excess sadness; she felt as though she would crack and break. "You will always be my father."

Tentatively, he placed a rough hand on her shoulder, before slowly pulling her into his trembling chest. Something warm coated her hairline and then she realized. It was the only time in her life that she had witnessed her father crying.

Draco stood at the top of the staircase watching his father's acceptance. It was the perfect ending. The good guys won, Hermione and Draco's relationship was accepted. He felt amazingly good about himself. More than usual, that was.

All the good feelings, however, disapparated at Dobby rushing from the kitchens to open the door. He knew who it was before he saw them.

The ragged twosome walked in, and Hermione ran into their arms. The three of them embraced, their heads together in more mourning. Draco stepped back, further in the shadows. He intended to let them have their moment. No matter how badly he wanted to take Hermione away.

"Malfoy!" Weasley nodded to him, red in his freckled face.

Draco would rather do anything else, fight a lion, but for Hermione's sake he would face two. He approached them, and Hermione grasped the robe at his waist, pulling him in.

The four of them held each other in a ridiculous happy-ending sort of way. Just the way Draco secretly longed for since he was eleven-years-old.

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks for the love, everyone.


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